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By  the  Same  Author. 

Idols;  or,  The  Secret  of  the  Rue  Chaussee 
D'Antin.  From  the  French  of  Raoul  de 
Navery.  By  ANNA  T.  SADLIER.  121110.  Cloth, 
$1.25. 

"  The  story  is  intensely  dramatic,  and  the  plot  is  an  excel- 
lent one.  It  certainly  contains  enough  of  startling  situations 
to  rivet  the  attention  of  any  lover  of  sensational  literature, 
but  at  (he  same  time  it  is  thoroughly  Catholic." — Connecticut 
Catholic. 

"The  story  of  'Idols'  is  a  remarkably  clever  one.  It  is 
well  constructed  and  evinces  a  master  hand." — Catholic 
Columbian. 

"  Full  of  romance,  of  incident,  and  religious  inspiration." 
-AT.  Y.  Tablet. 

"An  interesting,  even  sensational  story,  of  a  healthy, 
moral  tone,  free  from  the  '  preachiness  '  usually  found  in  what 
are  known  as  '  Catholic  tales.'  "—nttsburg  Catholic. 


BENZIGER  BROTHERS,  New  York,  Cincinnati,  Chicago. 


THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 


A  HISTORICAL  ROMANCE  OF  THE  TIME  OF 
PHILIP  IV.  OF  SPAIN. 


ilw  £rauU  »l  sUaauI  g* 

BY 

ANNA  T.  SADLIER, 

Author  of  "  Names  chat  Live  in  Catholic  Hearts." 


i'ii  EDITION*. 


Miw  YORK,  CINCINNATI,  AMD  CHICAUO  t 

BEN2IGER    BROTHERS, 

Printers  to  the  Holy  Apostolic  See. 


Copyright,  1883.  by  BENZIGER  BROTHUS. 


TO  M.  ZACHARIE  ASTRUE. 

You  brought  from  Spain  a  copy  of  one  of  those  works, 
which  reflect  the  greatest  honor  upon  the  genius  of  that 
immortal  galaxy  of  great  men,  whose  glory  reached  its 
culminating  point  in  the  reign  of  Philip  IV. 

I  first  thought  of  writing  the  dramatic  story  of  Alonso 
Cano  when  I  saw  and  admired  his  wonderful  statue  of 
St.  Francis,  which  it  is  impossible  to  contemplate  with- 
out respect  and  emotion. 

The  book  therefore  belongs  of  right  to  him  who  first 
made  this  statue  known  in  France,  and  who,  like  the 
Spanish  master,  wields  alternately  the  pen  of  the  author, 
the  pencil  of  the  painter,  and  the  chisel  of  the  sculptor. 

RAOUL  DE  NAVE"REY. 


2138161 


CONTENTS. 


CllAPTICK  PAGB 

I.  THE  STUDIO < 9 

II.  THE  MASTER. v... 25 

III.  THE  KING'S  VISIT 38 

IV.  A  LETTER 55 

V.  THE  CONSPIRATORS 68 

VI.  THE  CRIME , , 81 

VII.  SUSPICION v ...,      97 

VIII.  MIGUEL'S  ALGUAZILS k.  no 

IX.  THE  RIDE 123 

X.  THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE 135 

XI.  THE  SECRET  BETRAYED 155 

XII.  BETWEEN  Two  FIRES 175 

XIII.  THE  CARTHUSIAN  MONASTERY 188 

XIV.  THE  STATUE  OF  ST.  FRANCIS 307 

XV.  THE  FEAST  OF  CORPUS  CHRISTI 229 

XVI.  THE  CHAMBER  OF  DEATH 345 

XVII.  TORTURE , 258 

XVIII.  THE  KING'S  PRESENT 274 

XIX.  THE  GAMBLERS 286 

XX.  THE  MONK'S  PARDON 399 


THE    MONK'S    PARDON. 


CHAPTER  I. 
THE  STUDIO. 

THE  sun  of  a  warm,  glowing  noontide  fell  in  rich 
streams  upon  one  of  the  finest  studios  in  Madrid,  and 
brought  out  its  every  detail  in  the  fullest  perfection. 
Students  crowded  eagerly  to  the  luxurious  dwelling  of 
Alonso  Cano,  anxious  to  study  and  to  perfect  themselves 
in  the  various  departments  of  art,  all  of  which  the  great 
artist  cultivated  with  equal  success. 

It  was  because  of  the  versatility  of  his  talents  that  the 
studio  of  Alonso  Cano  presented  an  aspect  so  different 
from  those  of  his  rivals  in  genius  and  in  fame,  Estaban 
Murillo  and  Velasquez.  One  end  of  the  large  room, 
well  lighted  from  above,  was  entirely  occupied  by  the 
retablo  *  of  an  altar.  Truly  a  magnificent  one,  such  as 
is  rarely  seen  outside  of  Spain  or  Flanders.  Colossal  in 
its  proportions,  it  was  executed  with  wonderful  precision 
as  to  its  merest  details.  The  wood  in  the  skilful  hands 
of  the  artist  formed  an  elaborate  floral  ornamentation, 
and,  in  an  architectural  point  of  view,  the  decorations 
were  so  exquisite  that  nothing  of  its  kind  had  hitherto 
surpassed  this  work  of  Alonso  Cano.  Among  floral 

*  Altar  screen. 


10  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

bowers,  graceful  arcades,  and  groups  of  light,  elegant 
pillars,  statues  of  saints,  figures  of  angels  or  processions 
of  virgins  seemed  to  wander,  pausing  to  pray  in  Gothic 
chapels.  Like  the  crown  or  complement  of  it  all  was 
the  Madonna,  with  a  face  so  living  yet  so  divine  in  its 
expression,  that  the  beholder  felt  inspired  at  once  to 
pray.  Painting  had  combined  with  sculpture  to  give 
life  to  these  beautiful  creations,  and  the  warm  sunlight 
of  a  spring  day  striking  full  upon  this  grand  concep- 
tion reflected  thence  a  double  radiance  upon  the  studio. 
The  walls  were  covered  with  holy  epics  rudely  sketched. 
Easels  displayed  great  unfinished  canvases,  awaiting  the 
artist's  hand.  One  of  these  represented  Balaam's  ass. 
It  was  a  picture  wonderful  in  the  richness  of  its  color- 
ing, the  exquisite  grace  of  the  angel,  and  the  expression 
of  the  prophet's  face.  Alternating  with  these  canvases 
were  statues  of  marble,  which,  in  their  faultless  precision 
of  design,  stood  upon  pedestals  in  all  the  perfection  of 
that  ideal  life,  with  which  the  art  of  the  sculptor  had  en- 
dowed them. 

Near  these  finished  works  were  vague,  half-defined 
forms  of  terra-cotta,  wrapped  in  clamp  cloths,  and  images 
of  wax  ready  for  the  final  touches.  The  chisel,  the  pencil, 
the  brush,  and  the  mallet  fraternized  in  the  studio  of 
Alonso  Cano.  Comparing  the  marble  statues  from  his 
hand  with  his  paintings,  one  might  vainly  ask  in  which 
of  these  arts,  both  of  which  he  so  successfully  cultivated, 
did  the  genius  of  Alonso  Cano  most  appear! 

Great  vases  of  flowers  seemed  to  display  their  grace 
and  beauty,  as  it  were  in  contrast  to  the  grandeur  of  all 
else  around  them.  For  this  studio,  in  its  sublimity,  was 
like  a  temple.  Hfre  art  heard  as  it  were  no  sound  but 
the  light  step  of  the  S^iAsh  Muse  passing  hither  and 
thither  among  the  disciples  &*:'  the  great  master,  encour- 
aging them  with  merited  praise,  or  dealing  out  needed 


THE   STUDIO.  II 

correction.  The  young  men,  all  busy  at  their  various 
tasks,  usually  worked  with  unflagging  ardor,  till  the  bell 
of  a  neighboring  monastery  warned  them  that  the  hour 
of  rest  had  come.  The  silence  which  had  hitherto 
reigned  among  them  was  then  broken  by  a  joyful  move- 
ment. Each  student  put  aside  his  palette,  with  a  long- 
drawn  sigh  as  of  relief.  He  arose,  shook  hands  with  the 
others,  and  cordially,  without  the  slightest  jealousy,  each 
inspected  the  other's  work.  One  alone  remained  at  his 
place.  He  was  an  Italian  named  Lello  Lelli.  He  was 
apparently  some  twenty-five  years  of  age,  but  in  his  face 
or  manner  there  was  none  of  that  noble  enthusiasm  so 
delightful  to  behold  in  youth.  The  very  suffering  which 
was  the  predominant  expression  of  his  countenance  had 
nothing  noble  or  resigned  about  it;  there  was  ill-con- 
cealed envy  in  his  furtive  glance,  sarcasm  in  the  corners 
of  his  thin  lips,  and  a  suggestion  of  torturing  jealousy 
and  ill-repressed  rage  in  his  deadly  pallor.  Fierce  cu- 
pidity often  shone  in  his  eyes,  which  were  yellow  like 
those  of  a  beast  of  prey,  as  he  gazed  upon  purses  filled 
with  golden  ducats,  or  the  rich  jewels  of  the  court  ladies 
who  sat  to  his  master.  His  mean,  contracted  forehead 
was  surmounted  by  bristling  red  hair,  whilst  his  dark 
brows,  forming  a  straight  black  line  over  his  eyes,  lent 
a  peculiar  hardness  to  his  expression.  His  long,  nervous 
hands  would  have  been  beautiful,  were  it  not  for  the 
form  of  the  nails,  and  a  habitual  movement  of  the  fin- 
gers, which  constantly  reminded  one  of  the  claws  of  a 
panther.  His  lithe,  supple,  willowy  figure  had  some- 
thing of  the  fatal  attraction  of  the  serpent  in  it.  He 
stooped  too  low.  In  fact,  he  never  seemed  to  confront 
any  one  boldly,  but  rather  to  glide,  to  insinuate  himself 
into  one's  presence.  He  scarcely  ever  allowed  his  face 
to  be  seen.  The  daylight  appeared  to  hurt  his  eyes. 
His  voice  sometimes  changed  from  its  habitual  low. 


12  THE   MONK'S  PARDON. 

morose  sound  to  a  shrill,  piercing  treble  when  he  was  ex- 
cited. This  peculiarity  of  voice  had  the  same  effect  as 
his  look;  it  gave  one  an  uneasy  feeling,  for  it  too  was 
treacherous.  Certainly  Lello  Lelli  seemed  aware  of  his 
defects,  for  he  avoided  as  much  as  possible  all  inter- 
course with  his  comrades,  and  if  any  of  them  forced  him 
to  speak,  they  usually  regretted  a  conversation,  which 
nearly  always  ended  in  bitter  taunts  or  biting  sarcasms. 
Too  proud  to  admit  his  comparative  failure  as  an  artist, 
Lelli  avenged  himself  by  cordially  hating  all  that  was 
great  and  beautiful  and  pure.  He  never  discovered  the 
ideal  side  of  a  work,  but  quickly  pointed  out  its  defective 
one.  His  bitter  sarcasms  were  translated  by  strokes  of 
his  pencil  more  cruel  than  any  words.  In  this  way  he 
certainly  had  talent — nay,  as  a  caricaturist,  in  making 
travesties  of  the  thoughts  of  others,  he  had  genius. 

The  poverty  of  his  appearance  formed  a  complete 
contrast  to  the  elegance  displayed  in  the  costumes  of  his 
companions.  Whilst  they  set  off  their  handsome  faces 
by  doublets  of  rich  stuffs,  embroideries,  Spanish  laces,  or 
ruffles  edged  with  costly  guipure,  and  arranged  their 
hair  with  a  careless  and  becoming  grace,  Lelli  wore  a 
thin  reddish  coat  and  a  sober-colored,  short  cloak.  A 
leathern  belt  encircled  his  waist,  whence  hung  a  stiletto 
with  a  very  plain  hilt,  but  a  finely  tempered  blade,  which 
had  no  doubt  given  many  a  cruel  wound.  The  motives 
which  had  brought  Lelli  from  Italy  to  Spain  always  re- 
mained a  mystery.  He  himself  maintained  the  deepest 
silence  upon  this  subject.  It  seemed  not  improbable 
that  it  was  an  affair  in  which  the  poniard  had  played 
an  important  part. 

Hearing  Lelli  extol  the  Count  de  Ribera  in  the  gran- 
diloquent terms  peculiar  to  him,  and  dwell  upon  his 
talents  and  his  munificence,  the  thought  naturally  oc- 
curred to  one  that  he  had  belonged  to  the  band  of 


THE  STUDIO.  13 

vTiffians  and  cut-throats  that  Lo  Spagnoletto  kept  in  his 
pay.  One  thing  which  undoubtedly  contributed  to  sour 
Lelli's  disposition  was  his  want  of  artistic  power. 

Placed  among  a  number  of  ardent  young  men,  who 
were  one  and  all  fanatics  in  art  and  devoted  to  its 
highest  cultivation,  Lelli,  limited  to  mere  copying,  felt 
it  a  double  humiliation.  But  if  creative  genius  were 
denied  him,  if  his  talent  consisted  in  a  purely  mechanical 
reproduction  of  the  work  which  he  was  set  to  copy,  he 
was  gifted  as  a  compensation  with  a  critical  sense  which 
none  ever  ventured  to  dispute.  This  being  his  only  in- 
contestable superiority,  he  never  lost  an  opportunity  of 
displaying  it  and  making  it  a  means  of  revenge.  What 
wrong  did  he  want  to  avenge  ?  He  could  scarcely  have 
defined  it  himself.  His  ugliness,  his  deficiencies  as  to 
talent,  his  own  vicious  nature,  perhaps  remorse  and  the 
hidden  crimes  of  his  past  life,  were  all  so  many  griev- 
ances, for  which  he  would  fain  have  held  his  companions 
responsible — those  companions  whose  noble  pride  and 
unblemished  honor  involuntarily  exacted  his  respect. 

In  spite  of  themselves,  the  latter  often  allowed  their 
dislike  of  Lelli  to  appear.  Their  master  vainly  tried  to 
overcome  this  dislike,  and  to  smooth  away  the  frequent 
difficulties  which  arose  from  the  disposition  of  the  copy- 
ist. Not  that  he  felt  any  personal  attachment  for  this 
enigmatical  being,  whose  antecedents  no  less  than  his 
future  plans  remained  a  mystery,  but  he  gave  Lelli  credit 
for  the  scrupulous  fidelity  with  which  he  performed  the 
task  allotted  him.  Besides,  at  this  period  everything 
Italian  was  held  in  the  highest  esteem.  Artistic  Spain, 
not  having  yet  reached  her  culminating  point,  openly 
admitted  that  all  her  sympathies  were  with  Rome,  Na- 
ples, or  Florence. 

Of  all  the  painters  of  Spain,  Alonso  Cano  was  certainly 
the  least  Spanish,  and  his  canvases  belong  rather  to  the 


14  THE   MONKS   PARDON- 

Lombard  school  than  to  that  severer  one,  so  ful.1  of  aus- 
terity and  of  archaism,  which  owes  its  origin  to  Sanchef 
de  Castro,*  who  painted  at  Seville  in  1454.  This  stylt 
of  art  continued  until  Vargas  f  found  himself  beaten  in 
the  breach  by  those  ardent  young  spirits,  who  sought  to 
overthrow  that  tradition  of  coldness.  Juan  de  las  Roe- 
las,J  Herrera  el  Viejo§  Pacheco,||  who  in  this  new  path 
surpassed  even  Velasquez,  Zurbaran,^"  and  at  length, 
Alonso  Cano,  who  was,  so  to  say,  the  last  expression  of 
the  artistic  genius  of  Spain. 

Now  Lello  Lelli  was  an  Italian,  and  was  thoroughly 
versed  in  all  the  Italian  schools:  in  the  greatest  as  in  the 
least  studios  he  had  painted  and  copied,  becoming  ini- 
tiated into  a  style  of  composition  of  which  he  had  mas- 
tered the  theory. 

*  In  or  about  1450  Juan  Sanchez  de  Castro  founded  the  earliest 
school  at  Seville,  whence  came  some  of  the  most  renowned  artists  of 
Spain.  The  style  of  his  art  has  been  intimated  above. 

f  Luis  de  Vargas,  studied  at  Rome,  and  brought  into  his  own 
country  the  true  method  of  oil  and  fresco  painting.  It  was  he  who 
substituted  the  Renaissance  art  for  the  Gothic.  One  of  his  greatest 
pictures  is  the  famous  Calle  de  Amargura  ("  Way  of  Bitterness").  He 
died  about  1568. 

J  Juan  de  las  Roelas  made  himself  famous  for  his  use  of  the  rich 
Venetian  coloring  which  he  studied  under  Titian,  and  afterwards 
brought  into  Spain. 

§  Herrera  el  Viejo  was  among  the  first  and  most  noted  of  the  An. 
dalusian  school.  He  is  said  to  have  possessed  ' '  the  true  science  of  art 
besides  correctness  of  drawing,  profound  and  varied  expression,  and 
grandeur  in  strength."  His  style  was  fiery,  with  a  certain  coarseness 
and  harshness,  yet  breadth  and  freedom  of  expression. 

|  Pacheco,  another  light  of  the  Andalusian  school,  and  one  of  the 
masters  of  Velasquez,  was  distinguished,  on  the  contrary,  by  a  cold 
correctness  without  passion  or  life. 

TfZurbaran  has  been  called  the  Spanish  Caravaggio,  not  because  he 
resembled  him  in  fire  or  passion,  for  his  works  are  colder,  more  re- 
served, nobler,  but  from  the  bluish  tint  which  both  so  much  em- 
ployed. His  greatest  work  is  a  St.  Thomas  Aquinas. 


THE   STUDIO.  15 

A  fluent  talker,  and  possessed  of  a  rich  store  of  curious 
facts  and  interesting  anecdotes,  his  society  was  often  ben- 
eficial to  Alonso  Cano,  whose  disposition  tended  some- 
what towards  melancholy.  So  quick  was  he  to  seize  upon 
and  comprehend  his  master's  thoughts  that  it  almost 
seemed  as  if  he  spied  upon  him  for  the  purpose  of  being 
able  to  anticipate  them.  Poor  and  wretched  in  appear- 
ance though  he  was  he  was  naturally  arrogant  and  even 
insolent;  yet  he  was  always  ready  to  gratify  Alonso's 
slightest  wish,  or  the  merest  caprice  of  Mercedes,  the  art- 
ist's wife.  He  played  very  well  upon  the  viol,  de- 
claimed Tasso  with  great  facility  and  considerable  taste, 
and  improvised  verses  at  will.  Without  actually  de- 
scending to  the  role  of  a  buffoon,  he  was  always  ready  to 
lend  himself  to  the  amusement  of  others.  Friends,  and 
amongst  them  Velasquez  himself,  often  asked  Alonso 
why  he  kept  about  him  this  repulsive  stranger,  who  in- 
spired such  antipathy  in  every  one. 

"  He  copies  with  wonderful  precision,"  would  Alonso 
reply,  "  and  in  his  interpretation  of  my  work  puts  a  cer- 
tain suggestion  of  the  Grecian  which  pleases  me  might- 
ily. His  poverty  is  made  a  reproach  against  him,  but  I 
do  not  see  how  he  can  help  it,  nor  I  either,  since  he  earns 
so  little.  He  works  very  slowly.  He  is,  besides,  very 
amusing,  and  then  people  hate  him  so  cordially  that  I 
feel  myself  bound  to  take  his  part." 

As  the  subject  seemed  displeasing  to  Alonso  no  one 
ever  went  farther  than  this,  yet  every  one  agreed  in  dis- 
trusting Lelli. 

On  the  day  upon  which  our  story  opens,  when  the  bell 
of  the  neighboring  monastery  had  sounded  noon,  the 
pupils  threw  aside  their  brushes,  and  after  indulging  in  a 
prolonged  stretching  of  their  limbs,  they  rose  and  formed 
into  friendly  groups,  or  went  about  looking  at  each 
other's  work.  Lelli,  as  usual,  was  the  last  to  leave  his 


16  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

place.  But  when  he  had  left  it,  he  strolled  over  careless- 
ly to  a  picture  just  sketched  by  Pedro  Castello,  and  rep- 
resenting Prometheus  chained  to  the  rock.  Pedro  had 
certainly  put  considerable  power  into  the  composition; 
the  figure  of  the  conquered  one  was  at  once  pathetic  and 
terrible. 

"Well,"  cried  Castello  to   Lelli,    "art  thou  about  to 
sharpen  thy  wit  on  my  Prometheus?" 

"  Heaven  forbid,"  answered  the  copyist;  "  thou  knowest 
my  contempt  for  insipid  pictures;  thine  is  glorious  as  a 
specimen  of  the  terrible.  Every  one  follows  his  own 
bent.  It  would  be  impossible  for  thee  to  create  the 
lovely  faces,  which  come  quite  naturally  from  the  mas 
ter's  pencil.  Thou  shouldst  study  at  Naples,  Pedro,  and 
not  at  Madrid." 

"  Wherefore?" 

"  Because  there  is  but  one  master  who  would  under- 
stand thee." 

"  What  master  dost  thou  mean?" 

"  A  man  so  pale,  emaciated,  and  miserable  looking,  so 
unprepossessing  altogether  in  appearance,  that  out  of 
respect  for  Spain,  the  first  nation  of  the  world,  they  do 
not  call  him  the  Spaniard,  but  Lo  Spagnoletto,  the  little 
Spaniard.  I  myself  have  seen  him  going  about  in  his 
misery  from  place  to  place,  scarcely  earning  bread  to 
keep  himself  alive,  and  yet  already  dreaming  of  wonder- 
ful works,  the  realization  of  which  was  to  make  known  to 
the  world  all  the  sufferings  and  the  agony  of  Ribera, 
poor.  Now  that  he  is  rich  as  a  duke  and  powerful  as  a 
king,  having  about  him  his  train  of  poets,  flatterers,  and 
train-bearers,  he  does  not  forget  those  evil  days  when  he 
wandered  about  the  streets  of  Naples.  His  painting  is 
the  reflex  of  his  life.  He  lays  bare  his  lacerated  heart 
upon  his  canvases.  Gall  is  mingled  with  the  colors, 
which  give  so  wonderful  a  life  to  his  pictures;  having 


THE   STUDIO.  17 

suffered  in  body  and  mind,  and  heart  perhaps,  he  has 
made  himself,  and  must  remain,  the  painter  of  interior 
anguish  and  of  physical  torture.  He  reveals  the  secret 
of  his  character  in  his  startling  effects  of  darkness  and 
sudden  light.  He  can  neither  create  a  head  of  Christ 
nor  paint  a  divine  Madonna.  He  must  needs  astonish, 
strike,  overcome,  terrify,  by  a  sanguinary  spectacle  of 
torn  and  palpitating  flesh.  He  is  only  himself  when 
he  represents  the  struggles  of  Ixion  upon  the  eternal 
wheel,  Hunger  preying  upon  the  vitals  of  Tantalus,  the 
Martyrdom  of  St.  Lawrence  on  the  gridiron,  or  of  St. 
Bartholomew,  where  morsels  of  jagged  flesh  show  that  he 
was  flayed  alive.  Thou  art  of  his  school;  why  dost  thou 
stay  with  Alonso  Cano  ?" 

"Because  I  admire  his  genius." 

"  Yes,  but  so  did  Lo  Spagnoletto  admire  Correggio.* 
Canst  comprehend  that  ?  Correggio,  the  painter  of  An- 
gels and  of  Virgins.  Ri'oera,  however,  understood  the 
character  and  scope  of  his  own  genius  too  well  to  follow 
Correggio.  He  felt  that  such  an  influence  must  destroy 


*  Josef  de  Ribera,  surnamed  "  Lo  Spagnoletto,"  the  little  Spaniard, 
was  born  at  Hativa,  near  Valencia.  He  made  his  way  to  Rome, 
where  he  at  first  led  a  life  of  great  poverty,  though  he  afterwards  be- 
came rich,  honored,  and  independent.  His  first  step  in  life  was 
owing  to  the  charity  of  a  cardinal,  who  gave  him  the  means  of  pursu- 
ing his  art.  His  works,  as  intimated  above,  belong  to  the  rude,  savage, 
yet  fiery  and  powerful  school  of  Caravaggio.  Led  astray  for  a  time 
by  his  admiration  for  Correggio,  he  attempted  some  imitations  of  his 
softness  and  delicacy,  which  did  not,  however,  succeed.  Ribera  is 
purely  Spanish  in  his  style,  despite  his  Italian  training,  and  may  be 
said  to  be  among  the  first  of  realistic  painters.  He  is  noted  for  his 
exaggerated  contrasts  of  light  and  shade,  and  for  his  frequent  selec- 
tion of  wild,  terrible,  or  hideous  subjects.  His  jealousy  of  others 
amounted  to  ferocity,  and  led  him,  together  with  his  faction,  to  drive 
from  Naples  all  artists  not  of  hi&  s"' 'tool,  such  asGuido,  Carracci,  and 
others. 


i8  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

him  irrevocably,  and  he  soon  returned  to  the  rude  school 
ot  Caravaggio."* 

"  God  preserve  me  from  being  like  Lo  Spagnoletto," 
cried  Castello,  "  even  while  I  might  well  envy  him  his 
fame." 

"Art  sure  he  has  not  been  calumniated?"  asked 
Lelli. 

"  It  is  certain  that  he  embittered  the  life  of  Domenichi- 
no,"  said  Castello. 

"He  did  not  prevent  him  from  painting,"  said  Lelli. 

"  He  caused  an  attempt  to  be  made  upon  the  life  of 
Guido  Reni,"  continued  Pedro. 

Here  Lelli  visibly  shuddered. 

"That  accusation  was  never  proved,"  he  said  hoarse- 

iy. 

"  Was  not  Guido  so  terrified  as  to  be  obliged  to  leave 
Naples  ?"  questioned  Pedro. 

"  He  might  safely  have  remained  there,"  said  Lelli. 

"No,  no,"  cried  Pedro.  "Never  will  I  follow  the 
school  of  such  a  master.  He  takes  no  pupils,  for  he  will 
tolerate  no  rivals.  Death  and  terror  forever  surround 
him.  He  can  count  more  bravoes  than  friends,  and  all  the 
admiration  which  he  excites  is  not  worth  the  least  part 
of  the  esteem  which  our  kings  and  our  people  give  to  our 
own  great  men.  Ribera  would  have  done  well  to  have 
remained  in  his  birthplace,  Spain,  which  he  renounced, 
as  he  did  her  school  when  he  became  a  Neapolitan." 

"  And  yet,"  cried  Lelli,  "  thy  work  is  after  the  manner 
of  Ribera.  Oh,  thou  needst  not  turn  pale  with  anger, 
thou  hast  the  same  elements  of  success,  thou  art  fantas- 
tic, impetuous,  violent,  yet  with  an  indisputable  power 

*Correggio,  mentioned  in  a  former  paragraph,  whose  real  name 
was  Antonio  Allegri,  was  among  the  first  of  Italian  painters.  His 
works  are  remarkable  for  their  wonderful  chiaro-oscuro,  for  a  n  "ve. 
ment,  variety,  grace,  and  delicacy  peculiar  to  himself. 


THE   STUDIO.  19 

in  the  greater  effects  of  light  and  shadow.  Thy  figures 
cannot  be  very  well  distinguished  from  the  darkness 
whence  they  emerge.  There  is  something  unreal  and 
visionary  mingling  with  reality  upon  thy  canvases.  Thy 
Prometheus  is  superb,  and  yet  he  is  like  one  seen  in  a 
dream.  This  reproach  in  part  at  least  is  often  addressed 
to  Ribera  himself;  certain  parts  of  the  work  are  magnifi- 
cent, for  thy  power  approaches  the  power  of  the  scal- 
pel." 

"  That  is  to  say,"  cried  Pedro,  "  that  what  I  do  is  not 
original." 

"It  is  borrowed  from  Lo  Spagnoletto,  that  is  all. 
Thou  needst  not  blush  for  the  nature  of  thy  talent,  and 
God  grant  that  thou  attainest  either  the  fortune  or  the 
reputation  of  that  great  master.  He  who,  once  half 
starved  and  ragged  in  the  streets  of  Naples,  has  now 
lackeys  in  magnificent  liveries,  and  the  costliest  equi- 
pages in  the  town.  An  ensign-bearer  to  hold  his 
brushes  and  let  him  know  the  hour  stands  like  a  living 
clock  forever  at  his  side.  His  studio  is  the  resort  of 
painters,  poets,  and  great  lords.  Consider  my  criticism 
therefore  as  the  highest  praise,  and  persevere  in  thine 
own  way  till  thou  hast  given  a  second  Ribera  to  Spain." 

Pedro  sat  down  discontentedly  before  his  easel. 

"The  master  will  not  be  pleased,"  thought  he. 

"  Ho,  ho !"  cried  Lelli,  stopping  before  a  nearl) 
finished  picture  of  Bartholomeo  Roman,  "here  we  have, 
by  our  Lady  del  Pilar,  a  Saint  Catherine  dressed  in  bro- 
cade like  an  infanta.  Were  it  not  for  the  wheel  peeping 
out  from  behind  the  folds  of  her  dress,  or  the  golden 
circlet  which  forms  her  aureola,  one  would  have  mistaken 
her  for  a  great  Spanish  lady  just  putting  the  last  touches 
to  her  toilette.  God  be  praised,  these  are  rare  stuffs, 
heavy  as  Hungarian  leather,  and  bravely  loaded  over 
with  gold.  Where  didst  find  these  Moorish-skinned 


J50  THE   MONK  S   PARDON. 

angels,  Bartholomeo,  and  with  such  haughty  mien  ?  I 
could  fancy  them  grandees  from  Paradise." 

"Always  mocking,  Lello,"  cried  Bartholomeo. 

"Mocking?  I?  Where  dost  thou  find  any  mockery 
in  my  words  ?  Has  not  the  same  been  said  of  Zurbaran 
himself,  and  the  Saint  Cecilias,  Saint  Lucys,  and  Saint 
Ursulas  which  he  exposes  in  our  churches  are  as  haughty 
as  Castilian  dames  ?" 

"  That  does  not  prevent — " 

"  Does  not  prevent  Philip  IV.  from  calling  Zurbaran 
'the  painter  of  kings  and  the  king  of  painters.'  I  am  of 
his  opinion,  but  thou  wilt  permit  me  to  prefer  Zurba- 
ran's  monks  to  his  figures  of  martyrs." 

"Ah!"  cried  Pablo  as  Lelli  approached  him,  "it  is 
my  turn  now." 

"  Not  yet,"  said  Lelli,  with  a  sardonic  smile,  "  it  would 
be  very  hard  to  praise  or  blame  what  does  not  yet  exist." 

"  But  the  sketch  ?" 

"  Reminds  me  of  the  anecdote  told  of  Herrera  el 
Viejo." 

"  What  was  that  ?"  asked  Pablo. 

"To  economize  his  time,  which  had  become  very 
precious,  when  orders  were  pouring  in  to  his  studio,  he 
had  his  canvases  prepared  by  his  old  servant.  She 
covered  the  ground  with  colors,  haphazard,  rubbed 
them  in  with  a  tow-brush,  and  out  of  this  horrible  chaos 
Herrera  brought  forth  figures  and  draperies."* 

"What  then?"  asked  Pablo. 

"  Thou  art  still  at  the  tow-brush  stage  of  the  work," 
said  Lelli. 

Pablo  bit  his  lips  till  the  blood  came. 

As  the  Neapolitan  was  about  to  approach  a  canvas 
representing  an  Ascension,  the  pupil  who  was  working 
thereupon  promptly  threw  a  curtain  over  it. 

*  Such  an  anecdote  is  really  told  of  this  great  painter,  Herrera. 


THE   STUDIO.  21 

"Ah,"  cried  Lelli,  "  thou  wilt  not  let  me  see  it." 

"No,"  said  Miguel,  in  a  voice  so  cold  that  it  was 
almost  hard. 

"  May  I  know  why  ?" 

"  Because,  even  if,thy  cfit'ic'ism  is  just,  its  effect  is  bad. 
Thy  very  praise  leaves  an  involuntary  discouragement 
behind  it.  There  is  something  perfidious  in  thy  counsel. 
Poor  Roman  is  quite  disturbed,  and  yet  his  composi- 
tion is  good,  well  posed,  and  the  heads  superb.  Pedro 
Castello,  whom  thou  didst  honor  by  comparing  him  to 
Ribera,  is  not  charmed  by  the  comparison.  And  I,  who 
carry  my  devotion  to  art  to  the  length  of  fanaticism, 
fear  a  word  of  severe  blame  or  of  exaggerated  praise. 
Thou,  who  art  content  to  copy  the  works  of  our  master, 
canst  never  understand  what  quiet  of  mind,  what  inspira- 
tion, and  what  fervor  it  needs  to  create  and  invent.  Let 
me  have  Alonso  alone  for  my  guide,  and  I  will  gladly 
give  thee  all  the  merit  due  thee  of  being  a  skilful  critic." 

"Oh,  thou  never  failest  to  taunt  me  with  my  medi- 
ocrity," cried  Lelli  bitterly,  "  and  the  little  that  I  am,  a 
copyist.  Do  ye  not  all  among  yourselves  call  me  '  the 
beggar'  ?  What  harm  does  that  do  me  ?  dost  think  that 
thy  contempt  humiliates  me,  Miguel?  Thou  art  mis- 
taken; and  I  would  rather  know  at  once  that  thou 
hatest  me." 

"  I  do  not  hate,  I  distrust  thee,"  answered  Miguel. 

"  Did  I  ever  do  harm  to  any  one  here  ?"  asked  Lelli. 

'•Yes,"  replied  Miguel,  "and  what  at  first  seemed  to 
«n<:  unjust  on  my  own  part  is  yet  as  certain  as  the  exist- 
ence of  tne  sun.  Thou  seemest  to  be  surrounded  by  a 
fatal  atmosphere  and  bringest  misfortune  whether  thou 
wilt  or  no.  One  proof  of  this  is  that  thou  never  excitest 
in  us  one  elevated  sentiment;  discouragement  is  sure  to 
follow  from  contact  with  thee,  just  as  certain  poisons 
flow  from  certain  barks.  Thou  seemest  to  wither  and  dry 


22  THE   MONK'S   PARDON. 

up  all  that  approaches  thee.  But  if  them  wert  not  what 
I  have  described,  thou  wouldst  be  an  artist,  and  a  true 
artist.  It  simply  is,  that  God  has  refused  thee  the  t\vo 
mainsprings  of  genius,  faith  and  kindness.  Thou  must 
be  sterile,  because  thou  hast  never  loved  anything  in  the 
world.  Many  people's  punishment  lies  in  their  impo- 
tence to  create,  and  this  impotence  is  infectious.  The 
manchineel  tree  kills  all  plants  that  grow  in  its  shadow. 
Thou  killest  inspiration  and  faith  in  the  souls  of  all  who 
hear  and  are  tempted  to  believe  thee." 

"  Proud  and  arrogant  being  that  thou  art,"  cried 
Lello." 

"  Proud,"  cried  Miguel,  "  I  cannot  be  proud  as  yet  of 
what  I  am,  for  I  am  nothing.  I  am  proud  perhaps  of 
the  possibilities  within  me,  my  pure  and  noble  aims, 
proud  of  having  Spain  for  my  country,  Heaven  for  my 
hope,  and  Philip  IV.  for  my  master;  proud  that  I  study 
under  Alonso  Cano;  proud  in  the  hope  that  my  name 
may  one  day  be  associated  with  those,  who  are  the  glory 
of  our  country.  If  such  pride  and  such  hope  seem  paltry 
to  thee  thou  alone  art  to  be  pitied,  and  the  blame  is  not 
mine." 

"  Miguel,"  said  Lelli,  in  a  tone  of  intense  bitterness, 
"what  thou  now  sayest  aloud  thou  hast,  I  doubt  me,  long 
thought." 

"Perchance,"  said  Miguel. 

"Why  didst  thou  wait  so  long  to  let  me  know  it?" 

"Because  thou  didst  never  before  undertake  to  mock 
at  me  and  my  companions.  Because  I  never  so  well 
understood  the  fatal  influence  that  thou  wieldst  upon 
us." 

"  It  would  have  been  more  frank  to  speak  out  at  once,*' 
said  Lelli. 

"  But  more  respectful  to  be  silent,"  answered  Miguel, 

"  Why  ?"  asked  Lelli. 


THE   STUDIO.  23 

"Because  thou  art  under  our  master's  protection,"  said 
Miguel. 

"  Dost  insinuate  that  I  screen  myself  behind  him  ?" 
cried  Lelli. 

"  I  state  facts,  I  do  not  assign  motives,"  said  Miguel. 

"And  if  it  depended  upon  thee  ?"  asked  Lelli. 

"  Thou  wouldst  not  remain  an  hour  longer  in  the 
studio,"  replied  Miguel. 

"  So  at  last  thou  hast  thrown  off  the  mask,"  cried 
Lelli. 

"  To  be  silent  is  not  hypocrisy,"  responded  Miguel. 

"  After  what  thou  hast  just  said,"  cried  Lelli,  "  friend- 
ship or  communication  of  any  sort  is  impossible  between 
us.  I  am  a  restraint  upon  thee,  and  know  once  for  all 
,hat  I  hate  thee." 

"  What  follows  ?"  said  Miguel. 
v  *'  That  both  of  us  are  too  many  here." 

Miguel  turned  pale. 

"Go  on,"  he  said,  "what  wouldst  thou  suggest?" 

"  That  thou  givest  place  to  me  or  that  thou  takest  thy 
ihance  of  being  killed." 

"A  duel  !"  cried  Miguel. 

"Yes,  a  duel  here  and  at  once,"  cried  Lrllo. 

"After  the  Italian  fashion?"  said  M^I.  i,  with  bitter 
irony. 

"  Italian  or  Spanish,"  cried  Lelli,  furiously,  "  provided 
that  it  end  in  the  death  of  one  of  us." 

"Miguel!  Miguel!"  cried  Bartholomeo  Roman,  "what 
-wouldst  thou  do  ?" 

"  Rid  you  of  this  man,  who  has  been  too  great  a  friend 
of  Ribera  not  to  have  used  his  sword  in  his  service." 

Lelli  in  a  fury  snatched  the  stiletto  from  his  belt 

"  When  I  cry  ready!"  said  Miguel. 

Pedro  Castello  threw  himself  between  them. 

"Away!"  cried  Lelli,  "  I  must  kill  him." 


24  THE   MONK'S   PARDON. 

"  Fairly,  at  least,"  cried  Bartholomeo. 

He  took  down,  as  he  spoke,  two  swords  from  the  pan- 
oply which  decorated  one  of  the  panels  of  the  studio, 
and  offered  one  to  each  of  the  adversaries. 

Miguel  rested  his  hand  upon  the  hilt  of  one,  the  while 
Lelli  tried  the  metal  of  the  other,  making  the  fine  blade 
hiss  like  a  snake. 

"On  guard!"  cried  Miguel. 

Lelli  threw  himself  on  the  defensive,  the  swords 
clashed.  Just  then  the  door  of  the  studio  opened. 

"  The  master!"  cried  Bartholomeo  in  a  stiffled  voice. 
Alonso  Cano  stood  upon  the  threshold!* 

*  Alonso  Cano  is  usually  termed  the  Spanish  Michael  Angelo,  part- 
ly because  he  practised  the  three  arts  of  painting,  sculpture,  and  ar- 
chitecture. He  was  even  more  of  a  sculptor  than  painter.  As  an  ar- 
chitect he  principally  devoted  himself  to  retablos,  for  which  he  made 
all  the  ornaments  himself.  The  principal  character  of  his  works  is 
softness  and  gentleness.  He  was  remarkable  for  his  execution  of 
hands  and  feet,  and  distinguished  in  that  way  above  all  the  painters  of 
his  country.  His  style  is  correct,  elegant,  and  full  of  grace,  and  he 
undoubtedly  ranks  with  Velasquez  and  Murillo  among  the  first  of 
Spanish  artists.  Of  these  latter  we  shall  give  ap  account  farther  on. 


THE   MASTER.  2 5 


CHAPTER   II. 
THE  MASTER. 

AT  sight  of  Alonso  Cano  the  combatants  hastily  sepa 
rated.     Miguel  looked  at  his  master  with  an  expression  of 
sorrowful  respect,  whilst  Lello  muttered  an  imprecation. 

Alonso  advanced  towards  them,  as  pale  as  a  corpse. 
"  Unhappy  that  ye  are,"  cried  he,  "  what  could  have  led 
you  to  attempt  each  other's  life  ?  Is  not  human  existence 
a  sacred  thing?  How  dare  ye  fora  word  or  gesture  spill 
the  blood  of  a  fellow  being  like  miserable  assassins? 
Yes,  I  repeat  the  word,  assassins!  Every  skilful  duelist 
is  a  murderer,  and  believe  me  sooner  or  later  the  curse  of 
Heaven  must  fall  upon  his  head." 

Miguel  bowed  his  head,  but  Lello  stood  looking  the 
artist  straight  in  the  face  with  a  mocking  intensity. 

"  Who  began  the  quarrel  ?"  asked  Alonso,  abruptly. 
All  the  pupils  at  once  cried: 

"Lello,  Lello!" 

The  Italian  started  as  if  stung  by  a  viper. 

"  No,"  cried  he,  "  ye  lie,  all  of  you!  I  never  insulted  any 
one.  Ye  hate  me  here  in  this  studio,  and  ye  rejoice  in 
the  thought  that  the  severity  of  the  master  will  rid  you 
forever  of  a  disagreeable  companion." 

"Silence,"  said  Alonso,  sternly.  "I  have  pardoned 
thee  a  great  deal,  Lello,  and  my  indulgence  has  often,  I 
fear,  been  misplaced.  This  time  I  will  be  deaf  to  thy 
entreaties,  I  will  hear  no  excuse,  for  nothing  can  lessen 
my  horror  of  what  thou  hast  done.  I  will  have  no  brawl- 
ers in  my  house.  Thou,  Miguel,  must  find  another 
Studio  wherein  to  study  art.  I  shall  regret  thee,  for  thou 


26  THE   MONK'S   PARDON. 

hast  been  as  dear  to  me  as  my  own  son.  And  thou,  Lello, 
must  leave  here  in  three  days." 

Miguel,  approaching  Alonso,  said  in  a  supplicating  tone: 
"  Do  not  drive  me  hence,  master,  do  not  drive  me  hence. 
Thou  knowest  my  respect  for  thy  character,  and  my  ad- 
miration for  thy  genius.  Who  will  make  me  such  an 
artist  as  I  hope  to  become  if  I  am  deprived  of  thy  les- 
sons? I  know  I  was  in  the  wrong,  and  that  is  why  I 
humble  myself  now  before  thee.  But  could  I  hear  my 
companions,  my  brothers,  scoffed  at  so  cruelly?  My 
Spanish  pride  revolted  under  the  constant  sneers  of  this 
cursed  Italian,  who  seemed  to  take  a  special  pleasure  in 
disparaging  all  that  we  hold  as  our  greatest  glories,  and 
whose  perfidious  counsels  discouraged  my  comrades. 
Master,  thou  must  make  some  allowance  for  the  ardor 
and  impetuosity  of  youth.  This  severe  lesson  will,  I 
swear  to  thee,  be  of  service  to  me.  So,  forgive  me, 
master." 

"  Yes,  yes!"  cried  all  the  young  men,  "  forgive  Miguel." 

"If  it  were  a  personal  offence  merely  I  should  indeed 
forgive  it,  but  I  have,  as  you  know,  so  terrible  a  horror 
of  bloodshed  that  I  cannot  tolerate  a  readiness  to  quarrel 
which  makes  men  mere  bullies.  No,  Miguel,  I  cannot 
take  back  what  I  have  said;  but,  while  refusing  to  keep 
thee  as  a  pupil,  I  confess  that  I  will  regret  thee  sin- 
cerely." 

"  I  ask  no  pardon  nor  forgiveness,"  cried  Lello,  fiercely. 
"  I  know  too  well  why  Alonso  Cano  has  this  secret  horror 
of  dueling." 

The  artist  changed  color  and  leaned  heavily  upon  the 
back  of  a  chair.  The  Neapolitan  regarded  him  fixedly. 

"A  singular  incident  occurred,"  said  he,  "in  Granada 
somewhere  about  1637,  I  believe." 

At  the  mention  of  this  date  Alonso  grew  still  palef 
and  unable  to  stand  sank  into  a  chair.  His  pupils  sur 


THE   MASTER.  2/ 

rounded  him  anxiously,  but  the  artist  waving  them  aside 
said  gently: 

"  Thou  art  right,  Lello,  it  was  in  1637." 

"About  that  time,"  resumed  the  Italian,  "a  young 
man,  Sebastian  de  Llano  y  Valdez,  was  studying  paint- 
ing with  the  first  artist  of  the  town,  whilst  the  master 
executed  wonderful  retablos,  such  as  we  see  here  now. 
Sebastian  was  gentle,  modest,  and  good — yet,  one  day, 
in  a  fit  of  rage  he  fought  with  swords,  and  was  left  for 
dead  by  his  adversary." 

Grasping  the  arm  of  the  chair  with  one  hand,  and  ex- 
tending the  other  towards  Lello,  Alonso  arose: 

"I  killed  him!"  cried  he,  "I  killed  him.'  but  none  will 
ever  know  the  tears  that  his  death  has  cost  me.  Yes, 
thou  art  right,  Lello,  and  thy  malice,  in  which  I  have 
hitherto  refused  to  believe,  has  found  its  aim  in  the  most 
vulnerable  point  in  my  heart.  Well,  it  is  because  I  have 
suffered  such  anguish,  the  remorse  which  follows  upon 
such  a  crime,  that  makes  me  now  so  anxious  to  spare 
you.  I  wish  that  your  hands  be  not  like  mine  stained 
with  human  blood.  I  would  not  that  your  young  lives 
be  darkened  by  a  calamity  such  as  has  overshadowed 
mine.  Thou  hast  made  known  the  crime  and  the  sorrow 
of  my  past  life,  Lello,  I  accept  the  punishment;  but  I 
wish  you  all  to  know  that  since  the  hour  when  Sebastian 
fell  pierced  by  my  sword  I  have  scarcely  known  sleep. 
Ye  often  see  me  oppressed  with  sadness,  weighed  down 
by  an  unconquerable  dejection.  It  is  because  I  am 
thinking  of  a  young  life  gone  out  in  darkness.  I  shudder 
at  a  recollection,  at  a  chance  resemblance,  the  sound  of 
a  voice  disturbs  me,  the  sight  of  a  knife  turns  me  pale, 
and  I  avert  my  head  from  a  spot  of  blood.  The  phantom 
of  death  pursues  me;  forever  before  my  eyes  is  that  red 
gaping  wound;  among  the  voices  of  my  friends,  through 
the  music  of  court  orchestras,  comes  the  cry  which  Se- 


28  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

bastian  gave  in  falling.  I  hear  it  even  in  the  joyous 
laughter  of  youth.  Ye  have  often,  no  doubt,  wondered 
why  I  seemed  weighed  down  by  the  burden  of  some 
sorrow  when  everything  was  smiling  around  me.  Ye 
know  why  now.  Lello  has  told  you.  I  fought  a  duel 
and  killed  my  adversary."  The  artist  stopped,  a  sob  aris- 
ing in  his  throat  choked  his  utterance. 

"  Pardon,  master,  pardon,"  said  Miguel,  softly. 

Bartholomeo  Roman  advanced  to  Lello. 

"Shame  upon  thee,"  cried  he,  "to  awaken  such  painful 
memories.  If  thou  hadst  an  atom  of  feeling  thou 
wouldst  not  stay  here  three  days,  but  would  depart  to- 
morrow, now,  on  the  instant,  for  henceforth  thou  canst 
inspire  only  horror  and  disgust." 

"  I  said  three  days,"  exclaimed  Alonso;  "  till  then  he  is 
free  to  continue  his  work  and  to  keep  the  room  which  he 
occupies  in  my  house." 

"  I  would  rather  go  at  once."  c^id  Lello. 

As  he  spoke  he  returned  his  stiletto  to  its  place  in  his 
belt,  then,  looking  slowly  round  at  those  who  had  so 
lately  been  his  fellow-students,  he  said: 

"Farewell!  pray  Heaven  that  I  never  cross  your  path 
again.  I  will  now  rejoin  Lo  Spagnoletto." 

Not  a  single  hand  was  outstretched  to  him,  as  pale 
and  trembling  with  rage  Lelli  quitted  the  studio  which 
he  was  nevermore  to  re-enter. 

When  the  door  closed  with  a  loud  bang  after  him 
Alonso  looked  sadly  at  Miguel. 

"  I  will  regret  thee!  "  he  said,  "  for  I  loved  thee  very 
much  !  but  do  not  fear,  I  will  take  care  of  thee.  Thank 
God,  there  is  more  than  one  master  in  Spain,  and  to- 
morrow I  shall  recommend  thee  to  the  King." 

"To  the  King?"  cried  Miguel. 

"  Yes,"  said  Alonso,  speaking  with  effort,  "  to  Philip 
himself.  I  returned  here  full  of  jov  and  natural  pride. 


THE   MASTER.  29 

This  morning,  when  the  Infante  Balthazar  was  taking 
his  drawing  lesson,  his  Majesty  came. to  inquire  about 
the  progress  of  my  royal  pupil.  He  seemed  much 
pleased  thereat,  and  promised  to  pay  me  a  visit  to-mor- 
row." 

"  The  King  coming  to  the  studio  ?"  cried  Bartholo- 
meo. 

"  Will  he  have  his  portrait  taken  ?"  asked  Pedro. 

"  I  hope  so,"  answered  Alonso. 

"  Ah,  thou  hast  well  deserved  such  an  honor,"  said 
Miguel,  "  and  severe  though  thou  art  to  me  now,  I  re- 
joice, master,  in  whatever  good  befalls  thee.  Hitherto, 
thy  kindness  to  me  has  been  more  than  paternal,  and 
if  ever,  which  Heaven  prevent,  thou  hast  need  of  young 
Miguel's  aid,  be  assured  that  he  will  gladly  die  for 
thee." 

The  artist  held  out  his  hand  to  him. 

•'Thou  wilt  be  here  for  the  King's  visit,"  he  said. 

The  young  man  raised  Alonso's  hand  to  his  lips;  then 
he  turned  away  to  hide  the  tears  which  gathered  in  his 
eyes. 

But  the  scene  which  had  just  occurred  did  not  pass  out 
of  the  young  men's  minds;  the  thought  of  the  great 
honor  which  Philip  IV.  was  conferring  upon  their  master 
did  not  suffice  to  obliterate  the  painful  impression  pro- 
duced by  Miguel's  dismissal  and  Alonso's  confidence. 
Hitherto  his  pupils  had  supposed  that  his  constant  de- 
pression arose  from  too  close  application  to  his  art;  now 
they  knew  the  cause  thereof,  and  felt  so  much  the  more 
affection  for  him  because  he  was  really  unhappy.  How 
often  they  had  envied  him.  And  now,  which  of  them 
would  have  been  willing  to  exchange  his  youth  and  pov- 
erty and  uncertain  prospects  for  Alonso's  princely  for- 
tune, high  renown,  and  hopes  of  royal  favor? 

Perhaps  they  had  too  lightly  regarded  the  regret  en- 


30  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

gendered  by  past  faults,  and  the  remorse  which  makes  a 
crime  in  some  sort  everlasting.  To  teach  them  this  bit- 
ter lesson,  remorse  itself  had  taken  a  voice,  a  bodily 
form,  and  appeared  before  them  living  and  palpable,  and 
the  story  of  Alonso's  suffering  was  so  much  the  more 
salutary  and  impressive  because  they  respected  him  so 
highly.  Sorrow  had  then  its  share  in  a  life  apparently  so 
cloudless.  The  triumphs  of  Alonso  were,  after  all,  ex- 
piated by  secret  tears.  When  the  artist  saw  the  impres- 
sion which  his  sad  recital  had  made  upon  his  pupils  he 
endeavored  to  dispel  it  somewhat  by  speaking  some 
words  of  encouragement  to  each.  It  was  not  hard  to 
stimulate  their  zeal;  each  of  them  hoped  one  day  to  hold 
a  place  in  the  history  of  art.  They  listened  to  their 
master's  lessons  with  deference,  and  painted  with  enthu- 
siasm. The  moral  influence  which  Alonso  exercised 
upon  them  was  only  equalled  by  their  devotion  to  him. 
Alonso  made  his  teachings  wonderfully  clear,  illustrat- 
ing them  by  demonstrations  of  which  he  had  the  proofs 
at  hand.  He  made  sculpture  for  them  the  complement 
of  drawing;  like  himself,  he  accustomed  them  to  give 
their  attention  to  various  branches  of  art,  so  that  their 
artistic  education  was  as  universal  as  their  talents  per- 
mitted. A  calm  and  recollected  silence  was  the  ordinary 
atmosphere  of  the  studio.  If  the  silence  was  broken 
from  time  to  time,  it  was  usually  by  the  voice  of  one  of 
the  students  reciting  strophes  from  Lopez  de  Vega  or 
Calderon. 

Occasionally  the  regular  routine  was  broken  in  upon 
by  the  visit  of  some  important  personage.  Sometimes 
it  was  a  rich  merchant,  desirous  of  bringing  some  costly 
pictures  with  him  to  the  East  Indies,  or  again  it  was 
monks,  attracted  by  Cano's  double  reputation,  who  came 
to  ask  him  to  undertake  the  decoration  of  their  chapel. 
His  wonderful  facility  enabled  him  to  fulfil  all  the  de- 


THE   MASTER.  3 1 

mands  of  )u«  admirers.  He  labored  indefatigably,  joms 
said  for  fame,  others  for  money,  and  others  again  to 
gratify  the  whims  of  Mercedes,  his  wife.  The  truth  was 
that  Alonso  worked  in  order  to  forget.  Whilst  he 
painted  his  exquisite  Madonnas  he  lost  sight  for  the 
time  being  of  the  blood-stained  corpse  of  Sebastian 
Llano  y  Valdez.  The  young  men  resumed  their  various 
tasks,  and  it  was  only  when  nightfall  darkened  the  studio 
that  they  put  aside  their  brushes,  and  left  one  by  one. 

When  Alonso  found  himself  alone  he  passed  his  hand 
wearily  over  his  face. 

"  My  God!"  cried  he,  "have  I  not  wept  enough,  have  I 
not  bitterly  expiated  my  fault  ?  I  hoped  that  Thou 
hadst  accepted  favorably  and  as  the  ransom  for  my 
crime,  not  only  my  secret  tears,  and  my  sleepless  nights, 
but  that  long  succession  of  pictures  and  statues  which 
men  call  masterpieces,  and  upon  which  I  have  tried  to 
imprint  ardent  sentiments  of  faith  and  love,  so  that  the 
prayers  which  are  said  before  these  creations  of  my 
hands  may  rise  to  Thee,  and  perpetually  plead  my 
cause.  I  sought  to  calm  the  agitation  of  my  heart  and 
the  anguish  of  my  mind,  that  a  divine  peace  might 
shine  upon  the  faces  of  my  Virgins  and  martyrs.  I 
thought  that  each  would  become  my  advocate,  and  im- 
plore of  Thee  some  quiet  for  my  soul  delivered  unto 
torments  of  unrest.  I  deceived  myself.  The  expiation 
Ivas  not  sufficient,  and  the  rod  with  which  Thou  hast 
chastised  me  grows  more  terrible  than  ever.  Ah,  how 
the  memory  of  my  crime  was  recalled  to  me  just  now. 
Another  moment,  and  I  should  have  found  a  corpse  here 
in  my  studio."  Shuddering  Alonso  Cano  hid  his  face  in 
his  hands. 

The  door  of  the  studio  opened  softly,  a  light  step 
crossed  the  floor,  and  Mercedes  bent  over  the  armchair 
in  which  her  husband  sat.  She  was  a  charming  young 


ja  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

creature,  but  nervous  and  delicate  looking;  her  mobile 
face  reflected  with  rare  vivacity  the  impressions  of  an 
ardent  but  fickle  nature.  There  was  a  good  deal  of  the 
child  about  her  still.  Perhaps  this  was  partly  Cano's 
fault,  for  finding  her  charming  and  attractive,  he  asked 
nothing  more  of  her  than  her  beauty  and  her  high  spirits. 
Mercedes  was,  in  fact,  frivolous,  and  her  vanity,  besides 
a  strong  tinge  of  levity  made  her  character  peculiarly 
unstable.  As  she  did  not  occupy  her  mind  with  serious 
things  it  naturally  became  filled  with  frivolous  ones. 
Heart  and  head  were  alike  inconsiderate.  Her  young 
ill-regulated  mind  was  ever  on  the  alert  for  excitement. 
She  loved  her  husband,  but  her  affection  did  not  inspire 
that  security  which  is  the  charm  of  tenderness.  A 
thousand  things  diverted  her  mind  from  her  duties, 
which  she  skimmed  over  without  fully  comprehending 
them.  In  carrying  out  her  caprices  she  displayed  the 
temper  and  stubbornness  of  a  child.  Alonso  usually 
yielded  to  her  desires,  at  first  through  love  for  her,  and 
at  last  for  the  sake  of  peace;  for  if  he  refused  her  any- 
thing, she  always  declared  that  the  daughter  of  Frances- 
co Pacheco,  Alonso's  old  master,  and  the  wife  of  Diego 
Velasquez,  was  far  more  beloved  than  she,  because  her 
husband  always  gave  her  magnificent  toilets.  Mercedes' 
great  fault  was  that  she  narrowed  her  husband's  life  by 
constantly  keeping  before  him  the  frivolous  side  of 
existence,  and  tormented  him  by  her  never-ending 
whims,  as  if  his  only  occupation  were  to  order  belts  of 
gold,  pendants,  or  agrafes  for  her.  She  would  calculate 
as  closely  as  a  Jew  the  value  of  a  picture,  and  spend  the 
price  of  it  for  a  bauble  which  delighted  her  for  an  hour, 
and  was  forgotten  next  day.  Certainly,  she  was  far  from 
reaching  the  high  level  of  the  husband  whom  Heaven 
had  given  her;  her  levity  and  coquetry  sometimes 
Annoyed  Alonso,  but  she  rallied  him  so  prettily  upon  his 


THE   MASTER.  33 

jealousy  and  soothed  him  with  so  much  grace,  that  he 
always  ended  by  acknowledging  himself  in  the  wrong, 
and  promising  her  whatever  she  asked.  If  it  chanced 
that  Alonso  refused  her  anything,  she  made  great  parade 
of  her  grief,  and  throwing  herself  into  the  arms  of  her 
eld  nurse,  cried  out  that  she  was  the  most  unhappy  of 
women.  The  servants  were  of  course  not  altogether  of 
this  opinion;  but  Alonso's  melancholy  contrasted  so 
strongly  with  his  wife's  gayety,  his  frequent  absences  at 
the  court,  whither  his  duties  called  him,  probably  served 
as  a  basis  for  lying  accusations.  Hence,  in  her  own 
household  it  was  not  generally  believed  that  Mercedes 
was  happy  with  Alonso. 

Yet  the  artist  was  a  model  husband  to  her,  and  his 
only  fault  lay  in  that  he  was  too  indulgent  and  lacked 
the  necessary  firmness  to  deny  her  anything  she  asked. 

However,  such  scenes  were  not  of  daily  occurrence. 
Sometimes  a  whole  week  would  pass  without  a  single 
unreasonable  demand  from  Mercedes.  At  such  times, 
this  light,  capricious,  ardent  nature  was  really  attractive 
to  Alonso.  Mercedes  could  always  bring  a  smile  to  his 
lips;  and  her  light,  harmonious  singing  often  chased 
away  his  gloomy  thoughts.  He  forgave  her  childishness 
for  the  sake  of  her  beauty,  her  grace,  and  her  inno- 
cent prattle.  If  she  were  wanting  in  the  dignity  of  a 
companion,  she  had  all  the  charm  of  a  child.  When 
his  dejection  bordered  upon  despair,  Alonso  could 
console  himself  by  the  companionship  of  this  young 
heart  so  full  of  illusions  and  so  powerful  in  dispelling 
his  dark  visions.  At  the  moment  when  she  entered  the 
studio  Alonso  had  great  need  indeed  of  her  smile. 
Seeing  that  he  was  not  aware  of  her  presence,  Mercedes 
laid  her  little  hand  upon  his  shoulder.  Alonso  shud- 
dered, then  looking  up  cried: 

"  Thou  !  it  is  thou  !" 


34  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

"  It  would  seem  I  am  not  overwelcome,"  she  said. 

"Thou  art  ever  welcome,"  answered  Alonso. 

"  Oh,  ever  is  an  exaggeration,"  said  Mercedes. 

"  No,  I  swear  to  thee,"  he  cried,  "  only  thou  must  re- 
member my  anxieties  and  cares,  and  sometimes —  " 

"  Sometimes,"  said  Mercedes,  softly,  "  I  do  thee  the 
injustice  of  dividing  thy  life  into  two  parts." 

"  How  ?" 

"  I  leave  thee  the  bad,  Alonso,  and  I  take  the  good. 
Oh,  I  know  it  is  wicked  and  selfish.  I  know  there  are 
no  words  strong  enough  to  condemn  such  conduct.  But 
what  is  to  be  done  ?  It  is  not  in  my  nature  to  suffer.  I 
am  weak,  light,  and  so  childish.  Tears  would  dim  my 
eyes,  and  I  want  to  keep  them  for  a  long,  long  time  t<r 
admire  thy  masterpieces." 

"  Art  proud  of  them,  Mercedes  ?" 

"Ay,  that  I  am.  I  will  be  the  happiest  woman  in 
Madrid  when  thou  hast  made  as  much  money  as  thy 
friend,  Velasquez." 

"  Ah,  thou  art  growing  avaricious." 

"  On  the  contrary,  thou  wilt  make  the  money,  I  will 
spend  it.  Now,  the  day  before  yesterday  Pacheco'? 
daughter — " 

"  Say  no  more,  Mercedes,  I  can  guess  the  end  of  thf 
sentence." 

"  Nay,  I  think  not." 

"Thou  hast  repeated  it  a  hundred  times.  I  can  finish 
it  from  memory." 

"  Let  us  see  if  thou  canst." 

"  Pacheco's  daughter  wore  a  brocade  gown." 

"  Yes,  that  is  it,  that  is  really  it,  Alonso,  a  brocade 
gown,  and  a  necklace,  a  royal  necklace." 

"  Then  thou  didst  envy  her  this  dress  ?" 

"  Naturally." 

"  And  wert  jealous  of  her  necklace  ?" 


THE   MASTER.  35 

"As  thou  sayest." 

"  But  thou  art  wrong  Mercedes,"  cried  Alonso,  "thou 
art  very  wrong  to  attempt  to  vie  with  the  wife  of 
Velasquez,  the  friend  and  companion,  rather  than  the 
painter  and  chamberlain  to  the  king.  I  do  not  earn  as 
much  as  he." 

"  It  is  thine  own  fault." 

"I  think  not." 

"  Thy  talent  is  equal  to  his,  Alonso,  nay,  it  surpasseth 
it.  Velasquez  only  paints  pictures,  and  thou  makest 
statues  of  marble,  and  buildest  altars,  and  causest 
churches  to  spring  up  out  of  the  ground.  Sell  thy  pic- 
tures and  statues  and  plans  for  a  higher  price." 

"  Art  is  not  a  question  of  money,  Mercedes." 

"  For  thee,  evidently  not,  but — " 

"  But  my  fame  should  pay  for  thy  toilets.  Is  that 
what  thou  wouldst  say  ?" 

"  In  all  truth,  yes." 

"  Well,  rest  content,  thou  shalt  have  thy  brocade  gown 
and  thy  necklace." 

"  When  ?" 

"Very  soon." 

"  Thou  dost  expect  a  large  sura  of  money  then  ?" 

"  A  very  large  sum." 

"  From  whom  ?" 

"  From  the  King,  whose  portrait  I  am  to  take,  and  wh<s 
is  coming  here  to-morrow." 

"His  majesty  Philip  IV.  coming  to  thy  studio  ?" 

"Yes,  Mercedes.  Therefore,  as  the  King's  liberality  is 
well  known,  I  can  promise  thee  in  advance  that  thy 
wishes  will  be  gratified." 

"  But  I  did  not  tell  thee  all,  Alonso." 

"  Go  on  then,  what  more  wilt  thou  have  ?" 

"  I  want  thee  to  take  me  to  the  ball  given  the  day  after 
to-morrow  by  the  Count  d'Olivarez,  thy  patron," 


36  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

"  Is  that  all  now  ? 

"Yes,  but  I  want  that  very  particularly.  Wilt  thou 
pledge  thine  honor  to  take  me  ?" 

"Most  solemnly,"  said  Alonso,  laughing,  "so  thou 
canst  begin  to-morrow  to  prepare  thy  toilet,  which  I 
suppose  will  take  two  whole  days." 

"  At  least,"  said  his  wife  gravely. 

"  Child,"  said  Alonso,  "  thou  an  very  fortunate,  when 
it  requires  nothing  more  than  a  gown  and  a  necklace  to 
make  thee  glad.  There  are  times  when  I  could  wish 
thee  more  serious,  and  again  I  envy  thee,  I  who  but  for 
thee  would  never,  never  smile  again." 

"  Wherefore  ?"    asked  Mercedes. 

"Ask  me  not!  A  young  memory  should  never  bur- 
den itself  with  painful  thoughts.  All  I  can  tell  thee  is 
that  a  moment  ago,  one  of  my  fits  of  dark  despondency 
was  upon  me,  and  I  suffered  bitter  anguish,  but  thy 
oresence  has  dispelled  somewhat  the  burden  which 
veighed  upon  my  heart.  I  believe,  that  if  thou  wouldst 
ihou  couldst  cure  me  completely." 

"How  could  I  do  that?" 

"  By  pitying  me  sometimes.  I  often  fear  that  my 
gloom  may  be  oppressive  to  thy  twenty  years,  and  that 
it  is  because  thou  art  indifferent  that  thou  refuses!  to 
take  even  the  slightest  part  in  that  other  portion  of  my 
life  to  which  thou  art  a  stranger." 

"  Well,"  said  Mercedes,  "  I  will  try  to  overcome  my 
selfishness  some  time.  Meanwhile,  come  away  from  the 
studio  and  rest;  I  want  thee  to  talk  to  me  about  this 
royal  visit  that  thou  dost  expect,  and  to  give  me  thy 
counsel  as  to  the  costume  I  ought  to  wear." 

"  God  preserve  thee  from  every  sorrow,"  said  Alonso, 
kissing  her  forehead,  "  for  thou  wouldst  not  have  the 
strength  to  suffer;  while  to  me  it  has  been  given." 


THE   MASTER.  37 

Together  they  left  the  studio,  and  repaired  to  their 
oiyn  apartments.* 

*  Diego  Velasquez  de  Silva,  or  more  properly  Diego  Rodriguez  de 
Silva  y  Velasquez,  for  Velasquez  was  really  his  mother's  name,  often 
mentioned  in  the  foregoing  chapter,  was  born  at  Seville  in  1599. 
His  masters  were  Pacheco  and  Herrera  el  Viejo.  Studying  from  na- 
ture he,  however,  gained  the  wonderful  truthfulness  which  is  the  chief 
characteristic  of  his  style.  Velasquez,  undoubtedly  the  greatest 
painter  of  Spain,  "has  tried  various  styles,  and  succeeded  in  all," 
history,  portraits,  landscapes,  animals,  interiors,  flowers  and  fruit. 
His  skill  in  painting  the  human  form  was  wonderful.  Rousseau  call* 
him  "  the  man  of  nature  and  of  truth."  "  His  coloring  was  firm,  sure, 
and  perfectly  natural"  In  the  distribution  of  light  and  shade  Velas- 
quez excels.  Velasquez  enjoyed  the  constant  favor  and  support  of 
his  sovereign,  Philip  IV.  He  studied  in  Italy  for  many  years.  In 
personal  character  he  was  austerely  virtuous,  benevolent,  and  de- 
voted to  his  *rU 


38  THE   MONK'S   PARDON. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  KING'S  VISIT. 

IT  would  be  impossible  to  give  an  adequate  idea  of  the 
bustle  of  preparation  in  Alonso  Cano's  house  that  day. 
Rich  Oriental  carpets  were  thrown  over  the  marble  ves- 
tibules, the  staircases  were  adorned  with  a  double  balus- 
trade of  flowers  and  fragrant  plants.  All  the  servants 
were  at  work  under  Alonso's  direction.  Juana,  Merce- 
des*  nurse,  superintended  all  the  interior  arrangements, 
whilst  the  petulant  Jacintha,  half-crazed  with  delight  at 
the  honor  conferred  on  her  master,  put  the  last  touches 
to  her  young  mistress's  toilet. 

The  pupils  arranged  the  studio,  placing  the  great  can- 
vases in  the  best  light,  and  turning  the  statues  upon 
their  pedestals  to  form  the  most  harmonious  outlines. 
Marble  busts  were  enshrouded  in  dark  red  draperies, 
while  from  a  grove  of  flowering  shrubs  a  wooden  statue 
of  the  Virgin,  painted  with  exquisite  delicacy,  seemed 
about  to  ascend  into  Heaven  in  a  new  and  brilliant  As- 
sumption. 

A  single  cloud  threw  its  shadow  over  the  festivities. 
Cano's  pupils  loved  Miguel  so  much  that  they  could  not 
help  lamenting  his  approaching  departure.  But,  having 
once  heard  their  master's  terrible  secret,  they  knew  that 
it  would  be  useless  and  even  indiscreet  to  solicit  Miguel's 
pardon  farther.  His  presence  would  perpetually  remind 
the  artist  of  the  scene  of  violence  which  had  met  him  on 
his  entrance  to  the  studio,  and  thus  revive  his  own  sor- 
row. 


THE   KING'S   VISIT.  39 

The  generosity  of  Miguel's  character  led  him  to  ac- 
knowledge his  punishment  as  just. 

"  I  am  indeed  unfortunate,"  said  he  to  his  comrade 
"but  I  do  you  a  parting  service  in  ridding  you  of  that 
viper  Lello." 

"  Has  he  left  the  house  ?" 

"  Yesterday  evening,  Juana  tells  me,"  answered  Miguel. 

"  Good  riddance,"  cried  they  all.  "  But  what  wilt 
thou  do,  Miguel  ?" 

"  Try  my  wings  and  seek  a  new  path  for  myself,"  he 
answered  cheerfully.  "  I  admire  Velasquez,  but  I  will  not 
enter  a  studio  which  is  in  rivalry  with  that  of  my  mas- 
ter. So  discourteous  a  proceeding  would  almost  seem 
like  revenge.  Alonso  Cano  has  promised  to  present  me 
to  the  King.  With  some  encouragement  from  his 
majesty.  I  hope  to  find  a  place  under  the  sun  of  Spain. 
And  when,  after  your  day's  work,  ye  bethink  yourselves  of 
your  old  comrade  come  to  his  modest  studio  ;  together 
we  will  empty  a  glass  to  Spanish  art,  the  most  spiritual 
of  all  schools,  and  we  will  form  a  phalanx  ready  for  the 
combat  and  worthy  of  victory." 

"  Yes,  Miguel,"  answered  all  the  young  men,  cordially 
offering  him  their  hand. 

Just  then  the  distant  sound  of  carriage  wheels  was 
heard.  Alonso  Cano  came  hastily  down  the  stairs,  while 
the  gracious  Mercedes,  dazzling  in  her  youth  and  beauty, 
well  set  off  by  her  robe  of  black  brocade  embroidered  with 
gold,  lightly  crossed  the  vestibule,  which  was  as  fragrant 
as  a  flower  garden.  Ranged  in  two  lines  were  Alonso'a 
pupils,  with  uncovered  head  and  one  arm  akimbo,  wait* 
ing  grave  and  respectful.  The  mules  halted  at  the  door, 
and  the  King  alighted  from  the  carriage.  The  door  wa£ 
thrown  wide  open,  and  Alonso  Cano,  kneeling  on  one 
knee,  took  the  King's  offered  hand.  Philip  IV.  saluted 
Mercedes  with  his  habitual  courtesy.  Few  women  even 


4O  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

at  the  court  could  rival  the  painter's  wife  in  beauty, 
therefore  the  King  paid  her  a  compliment  which  made 
her  blush  with  delight. 

"  We  must  see  thee  full  soon  at  court,  Dofia  Mer- 
cedes," he  said  graciously. 

Mercedes  smiled  and  curtsied,  replying  to  the  King 
with  perfect  ease  and  grace.  Then  Alonso  successively 
presented  his  pupils  to  the  King.  He  began  by  saying 
with  a  just  pride: 

"  Pedro  Castello,  sire,  a  name  which  I  trust  your 
majesty  will  remember,  for  if  he  follows  somewhat  in  his 
style  the  abrupt  and  fiery  method  of  Ribera,  he  at 
least  will  never  abandon  a  country  where  thou  deignest  to 
patronize  art  in  so  royal  a  manner." 

"  Pedro  Castello,"  repeated  the  King,  "  thou  art  right. 
I  will  remember." 

"This  is  Bartholomeo  Roman,"  said  Alonso,  "who 
studied  with  Herrera  before  coming  here;  I  mention  this, 
sire,  to  prove  that  he  hath  been  trained  in  the  highest 
and  truest  principles  of  art." 

"And  this  mere  stripling,"  said  his  majesty  pausing 
before  Pablo. 

"  Sire,"  cried  Pablo  answering  for  himself,  "a  pupil 
and  admirer  of  Alonso  Cano,  who,  proud  of  the  teachings 
of  such  a  master,  will  never  cross  the  threshold  of  an- 
other studio,  for  nowhere  else  would  he  obtain  so  per- 
fect an  artistic  education,  nor  be  taught  so  fully  to 
appreciate  and  to  be  grateful  for  the  happiness  of  living 
in*he  reign  of  Philip  IV." 

"  Already  flattering,"  said  the  king  smiling. 

"  Only  grateful,  Sire,"  said  Pablo. 

Alonso  Cano  now  took  Miguel's  hand. 

"  This  one,"  said  he,  "  is  about  to  quit  my  studio;  not 
in  truth  because  of  his  unworthiness,  sire.  He  is  of 
noble  heart  and  lofty  mind.  He  must  succeed.  I  ask 


THE   KING'S  VISIT.  41 

thee  to  grant  him  the  execution  of  the  first  Sargas,  which 
thou  wilt  have  painted  for  the  procession  of  the  Corpus 
Christi" 

"  He  is  but  a  mere  youth,"  said  the  King  kindly. 

"  Yet  his  style  as  a  painter  is  broad,"  continued 
Alonso,  "  and  his  grouping  of  figures  skilful.  One  day 
your  majesty  may  deign  to  thank  me  for  having  made 
known  Miguel  to  thee." 

"  Thy  request  is  granted,"  said  Philip. 

Alonso  Cano  then  presented  his  other  pupils  each  in 
turn,  after  which  they  departed  leaving  the  King  alone 
with  the  artist  in  the  studio.  Mercedes  herself  had  with- 
drawn, and  radiant  with  delight  was  declaring  to  Juana 
and  Jacintha  that  she  would  be  sure  to  go  to  the  first 
ball  given  at  the  court,  and  eclipse  by  her  toilet  the 
beautiful  and  haughty  wife  of  Velasquez.  Meanwhile 
the  King  passed  slowly  round  Alonso's  studio.  Philip 
IV.,  the  most  artistic  of  kings,  and  the  intimate  friend  of 
Velasquez,  whose  studio  communicated  with  the  palace, 
though  accustomed  to  all  the  excellence  of  Spanish 
painting,  which  under  his  reign  reached  its  zenith,  was 
far  from  anticipating  all  that  awaited  him  in  Alonso's  stu- 
dio, or  rather  series  of  studios.  All  at  once  he  perceived 
at  the  further  end,  erected  into  a  chapel,  the  grand  re- 
tablo,  peopled  with  a  whole  world  of  saints,  virgins,  and 
angels.  He  could  not  repress  a  cry  of  admiration.  He 
had  never  seen  anything  so  beautiful  before. 

"  And  thou  shouldst  demand  of  me  half  a  province  for 
it,"  cried  Philip.  "  I  must  have  this  retablo.  To  give  it  a 
case  worthy  of  its  perfection,  I  shall  build  a  church  gran- 
der and  more  beautiful  than  any  in  Spain.  The  palaces 
of  Granada  and  the  beauties  of  Seville  shall  pale  before 
this  new  creation,  which  must  give  to  the  faithful  an 
idea  of  the  heavenly  Jerusalem  described  by  the  apostle. 
Gold  shall  flow  in  rivers  there;  the  walls  shall  be  covered 


42  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

with  gorgeous  frescoes.  If  possible,  Michael  Angelo's 
St.  Peter's  shall  be  surpassed.  Make  thy  mind  easy, 
Alonso,  the  shrine  shall  be  worthy  of  its  jewel."  The 
artist  opened  a  portfolio  and  showed  the  King,  who  was 
wonder-stricken,  the  plans  for  a  cathedral,  saying  in  a 
tone  of  noble  confidence: 

"Wilt  thou  permit  me  sire,  to  carve  out  myself  the 
shrine  for  this  retablo,  which  thou  deignest  to  call  a  jewel? 
Behold,  sire,  these  majestic  doors,  the  carving  of  which 
gains  life  from  being  peopled.  Far  from  us  be  the 
Grenadine  architecture,  which  recalls  times  of  oppres- 
sion; the  house  of  God  must  not  be  built  on  the  plan  of 
Generalife.  Since  the  Creator  has  lavished  upon  us 
exquisite  beauties  in  nature,  it  is  but  just  that  we  should 
use  them  in  the  ornamentation  of  His  temples;  as  they 
enchant  us  in  the  panorama  of  the  universe,  so  must  they 
add  unto  edifices  the  charm  of  a  new  grace.  I  would 
fain  combine  with  the  magnificence  of  forests  the  ele- 
gance of  plants,  the  grace  of  flowers,  and  the  supreme 
beauty  of  the  human  figure.  Creation  should  in  some 
sort  concur  to  realize  the  ideal  of  the  Christian  architect. 
To  give,  according  to  my  view,  a  complete  idea  of  how 
nature  should  be  used  in  the  decoration  of  churches,  I 
believe  that  the  artist  should  employ  therein  these  three 
elements  of  ornamentation  mingled  in  a  harmonious 
whole;  first,  unintelligent  but  animate  beings,  serving  to 
vary  the  carvings  in  the  chapels,  the  capitals  of  pillars, 
or  portions  of  the  fa9ade;  second,  man  represented  by 
saints  and  heroes,  sombre  statues  shrouded  in  armor, 
monks  ravished  in  ecstasy,  young  virgins  crowned  with 
roses,  martyrs  bearing  palms;  and  third,  to  crown  the 
work,  the  Immaculate  Virgin  smiling  down  upon  the 
earth  redeemed  by  her  Son,  Christ  the  Conqueror  of 
Death,  and  highest  above  all,  the  divine  figure  of  the 
Almighty  Father." 


THE  KING'S  VISIT.  43 

Philip  IV.  seized  Cano's  hand. 

"This  church,"  he  cried,  "which  thou  describes!  with 
an  enthusiasm  so  rare  that  I  seem  to  see  it  rise  out  of  the 
ground  at  thine  invocation,  thou  shalt  erect  in  Madrid, 
Alonso,  and  to-morrow,  if  so  thou  wilt,  thou  canst  begin 
thy  labor.  Greek  and  Italian  marbles  shall  come  hither 
upon  laden  vessels  for  thee,  and  gold  from  the  East 
Indies  to  realize  thy  dreams." 

"  Sire,"  cried  Alonso,  "  thou  hast  realized  my  most 
ardent  wish."  Philip  IV.  turned  again  to  examine  the 
magnificent  retablo,  passing  in  review  the  statues  of 
marble  against  their  sombre  backgrounds. 

"  Did  not  the  Dona  Mercedes  sit  for  this  figure  ?"  he 
asked: 

"  She  did,  sire." 

"  An  expressive  countenance,  a  charming  figure,  a 
childish  grace.  Thou  art  fortunate,  Alonso." 

"  Yes  sire,  most  fortunate,"  answered  the  artist. 

"  Few  men  appreciate  what  they  possess,"  said  the 
King. 

"  It  is  but  little  merit  to  be  grateful,  sire." 

"Yet  gratitude  in  man  is  a  noble  quality." 

"  Sire,  the  first  favor  for  which  I  had  to  thank  Heaven 
was  that  I  had  a  good  and  accomplished  woman  for  my 
mother.  Her  lips  taught  me  my  first  prayer;  pure  and 
saintly  was  she  as  the  doctrine  which  she  implanted  in 
my  youthful  breast.  She  imposed  naught  of  hard  or 
difficult  upon  me,  but  inspired  me  with  the  desire  of 
imitating  her.  Thus  did  my  childhood  speed  on  like  a 
cloudless  day.  Goodness  seemed  indeed  the  natural 
atmosphere  of  the  domestic  hearth,  and  the  air  of  piety 
there  inhaled  made  body  and  soul  at  once  robust." 

"  Proceed,"  cried  the  King,  "  thou  dost  interest  me 
deeply." 


44  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 


"  Pardon,  sire,  but  dost  thou  ask  from  me  my  story  ?*" 

"  Yea,  and  most  completely,"  said  the  King. 

Alonso's  face  darkened  with  its  shadow  of  unrest,  and 
he  continued  with  some  effort: 

"  Sire,  if  thou  wilt  deign  at  fu-st  to  examine  these  pic- 
tures, after  which,  the  while  thou  dost  rest,  I  shall  en- 
deavor to  gratify  thy  desire." 

Philip  admired  each  wonderful  canvas  in  turn;  the 
Virgin  and  Child;  that  masterpiece  of  tender  and  in- 
genuous grace  kept  him  long  spellbound.  When  he  be- 
held the  picture  of  Balaam's  Ass,  he  cried: 

"  That  angel  is  living  and  breathing!  Ah,  what  draw- 
ing, what  coloring!  I  thought  I  knew  thy  works,  Alonso. 
To-day  alone  do  I  realize  their  full  value.  Therefore,  it 
seemeth  to  me  that  the  story  of  thy  life  should  be  one 
indeed  of  enthralling  interest.  Interest,  in  truth,  there 
must  be  in  the  story  of  one  who,  in  his  full  strength  and 
power,  scarce  yet  bordering  upon  maturity,  has  in  fash- 
ion so  wonderfully  mastered  the  three  arts." 

Alonso  bowed  deeply,  while  Philip  seated  himself  in  a 
great  arm-chair. 

"  Since  I  am  here,"  said  the  King,  "  begin  my  portrait 
Alonso,  it  will  be  an  excuse  for  me  to  come  thither 
again." 

"  Sire,  thou  art  generous,"  said  Alonso,  "  generous  as  a 
king,  a  king  of  Spain,  upon  whose  vast  dominions  the 
sun  never  sets." 

Alonso  placed  his  easel  in  the  proper  position,  and 
hastily  preparing  his  other  materials,  began  to  sketch  his 
august  model. 

"  Is  it  thy  wont  to  paint  standing?"  asked  the  King. 

"  Nay  sire,  but  respect  —  " 

"  Take  thy  artist's  stool,  Alonso,"  said  the  King;  "  th* 
Grandees  of  Spain  are  permitted  to  cover  in  my 


THE  KING'S  VISIT-.  45 

ence,  and  yet  of  them  who  can  equal  thee  ?  Truly,  in 
beholding  all  that  meets  my  eye  here,  I  fain  would  con* 
fer  nobility  upon  thee." 

"  Thou  wouldst  thus  humilate  many  a  proud  gentle- 
man," said  Alonso. 

"  Without  elevating  thee;  I  understand,"  said  the  King. 

"Thou  wilt  deem  me  over-proud,  sire." 

"  Nay,  but  of  greater  sense  than  vanity,  which  is  rare," 
said  the  King.  "  Now  am  I  ready  to  hear  thy  story,  and 
thou  knowest  already  with  what  interest." 

Alonso  began  as  follows: 

"  I  have  told  thee,  sire,  that  my  father's  house  was  one 
of  benediction.  Never  did  the  day's  work  begin  before 
we  had  all  heard  Mass.  When  we  returned  thence  my 
mother  applied  herself  to  the  cares  of  her  household, 
whilst  my  father  and  I  went  to  our  places  in  the  studio. 
Perchance,  to  flatter  my  pride,  my  father  is  usually  de- 
scribed as  an  architect,  but  it  was  not  the  case.  He 
mounted  and  arranged  retablos,  such  sire  as  that  thou 
seest  here.  I  did,  in  fact,  devote  myself  with  passionate 
love  to  the  study  of  sculpture  and  decoration.  In  the 
details  of  a  tabernacle  I  attempted  what  I  have  since 
dreamed  of  doing  upon  a  mighty  scale.  So  rapid  was 
my  progress,  and  such  hopes  did  my  father  conceive  of 
me,  that  it  presently  entered  into  his  mind  to  de- 
spatch me  to  Seville.  My  mother  wept,  but  I,  with  the 
carelessness  and  ardent  curiosity  of  youth,  rejoiced  at 
my  father's  resolution.  My  promises  and  caresses  con- 
soled my  mother  somewhat,  and  the  period  of  my  de- 
parture was  fixed.  My  father  did  himself  accompany 
me.  He  desired  to  present  me  to  my  master,  Francesco 
Pacheco,  who  had  even  then  opened  a  studio  in  that  city, 
which  has  been. entitled  the  wonder  of  Spain.  Need  I, 
sire,  make  Pacheco's  panegyric  to  thee  ?  Will  it  not 


46  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

suffice  to  say  that  Velasquez  was  his  pupil,  and  Murillo* 
and  Zurbaran  were  likewise  indebted  to  him  for  les- 
sons. But  Pacheco  was  not  only  a  master  in  the  art  of 
painting,  his  dwelling  was  in  truth  an  academy.  Science 
and  letters  flourished  there  side  by  side.  Hard  indeed 
would  it  be  to  picture  to  thee,  sire,  those  assemblies  of 
eminent  men  who  came  thither  to  seek  new  inspiration, 
or  to  brighten  the  spark  of  the  artist's  genius  by  their 
own." 

"  That  which  is  most  worthy  of  remark  in  the  master 
whom  thou  praisest,"  said  the  King,  "  is  that  he  hath  in 
a  manner  so  absolute  departed  from  recognized  tradi- 
tion. Wherein  have  his  pictures  of  the  depressing  gloom 
which  marks  those  of  Morales  ?  His  personages  are  real, 
they  seem  in  truth  to  move  under  their  draperies,  and 
from  his  school  hath  proceeded  all  of  whom  Spain  is 
justly  proud." 

"  That  which  your  majesty  doth  observe  in  Pacheco's 

*  Bartholeme  Estaban  Murillo,  one  of  the  greatest  painters  that 
Spain  or  any  other  country  has  produced,  began  life  in  very  humble 
circumstances,  but  became,  by  force  of  genius,  the  first,  perhaps,  of 
Spanish  painters.  "  In  scenes  of  human  life,"  it  is  said,  "he  rivals 
the  greatest  masters,  in  the  imaginary  scenes  of  eternal  life  he  is 
alone."  It  has  been  said  of  the  two  great  Spaniards,  "  that  Velasquez 
is  the  painter  of  earth,  Murillo  of  heaven."  In  religious  subjects,  a 
writer  on  art  says,  Murillo  comes  up  in  every  respect  to  what  our 
imagination  could  hope  or  conceive.  His  earthly  daylight  is  perfectly 
natural  and  true,  his  heavenly  day  is  a  wonderful  radiant  light.  "  In 
the  attitudes  of  the  saints,  and  the  expressions  of  their  features,  is  all 
that  the  most  ardent  piety  and  the  most  passionate  exaltation  could 
feel  or  express."  "  In  such  scenes  of  supernatural  poetry  the  pencil 
of  Murillo,  like  the  wand  of  an  enchanter,  produces  marvels."  He  had 
three  styles  of  painting,  the  cold,  the  warm,  and  the  aerial.  The 
first  for  human  subjects,  the  ecstasies  of  saints  in  the  warm,  and  the 
annunciations,  assumptions,  etc.,  in  the  aer'al.  He  painted  more 
pictures  than  almost  any  other  artist.  He  belonged  to  the  Andalusian 
•chool. 


THE  KING'S  VISIT.  47 

pictures  comes  from  this,"  said  Alonso,  "  that  he  was  him- 
self capable  of  discerning  such  beauties  of  ancient  art 
as  were  unnoticed  by  his  predecessors.  In  the  Casa  de 
Pilatos,  richly  stored  with  treasures  of  art  by  the  Duca 
d'Acola,  Pacheco  saw  and  comprehended  at  once,  in 
studying  busts  and  statues  brought  thither  at  enormous 
cost  from  Italy,  what  were  real  grandeur  of  style  and 
propriety  of  drapery.  He  abjured  the  Gothic  in  favor  of 
what  he  found  in  the  most  brilliant  epochs  of  antiquity." 

"  But,"  asked  the  King,  "  have  I  not  heard  that  thou 
also  didst  enjoy  the  lessons  of  Herrera  el  Viejo  ?" 

"Yea,  sire,  and  it  is,  true.  But  I  passed  hastily,  as  it 
were  through  the  studio  of  Herrera  and  did  not  linger 
there.  His  own  sons  perforce  abandoned  him.  His 
nature  is  rough,  powerful,  ay,  and  terrible.  His  habit 
of  mind  at  once  grand  and  cruel  is  reflected  upon  his 
canvases.  He  paints  with  a  something  which  approach- 
eth  frenzy,  but  the  inequalities  of  his  character  take 
from  his  pictures  the  sovereign  calm  of  art  at  its  high- 
est. Never  was  man  less  fitted  to  gather  students  about 
him.  He  is  unsociable  to  the  verge  of  savagery.  In  his 
painting  he  disdains  the  art  of  pleasing.%  For  him  it 
sufficeth  to  strike  and  to  strike  hard.  Verily  none  can 
deny  him  genius,  but  it  is  an  almost  brutal  genius,  and 
better  fitted  to  the  vast  dimensions  and  startling  effects 
of  fresco  than  to  the  delicacy  of  pictures.  His  violent 
school  has  produced  in  truth  a  schism  in  Andalusia. 
Great  was  his  renown,  ay,  and  his  influence,  even  Velas- 
quez hath  felt  it,  but  he  like  myself  cast  it  aside;  we  can- 
not forget  the  brutality  of  the  man  in  the  power  of  the 
artist." 

"I  saw  Herrera,"  said  the  King  "not  indeed  at  the 
period  of  which  thou  speakest,  when  his  studio  was  the 
resort  of  numerous  young  men,  but  at  that  time  when  his 
researches  for  the  purpose  of  making  medals  of  perfect 


48  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

beauty  caused  him  to  be  accused  of  the  crime  of  counter, 
feiting.  When  I  beheld  and  admired  his  Triumph 
of  St.  Hermengilde,  I  declared  him  innocent,  for  this 
reason  alone,  that  an  artist  like  to  him,  who  might  de- 
mand what  money  he  desired  for  a  picture,  would  never 
descend  to  the  baseness  of  coining  it.  When  one  can 
obtain  so  many  golden  ducats  wherefore  counterfeit 
them  ?" 

"  Oh,  sire,  thou  wert  right,"  cried  Aloniio;  "  a  Herrera's 
violence  never  stooped  to  any  baseness.  He  was  too 
great  not  to  have  enemies.  But  happy  the  artist  who, 
weighed  down  by  so  grave  an  accusation,  finds  a  king 
for  his  advocate  !" 

"  Far  have  we  strayed  from  the  studio  of  Francesco 
Pacheco,"  said  Philip. 

"  To  return  thither,"  resumed  Alonso.  "  Ah,  what  sweet 
memories  those  days  of  study  leave  within  my  mind. 
What  a  charm  still  lingereth  around  that  dwelling,  which 
we  were  wont  to  call,  '  the  golden  prison  of  art.'  There 
did  we  read  book  by  book  that  wonderful  satire  of  '  Don 
Quixote;'  there  did  we  encounter  sacred  orators,  princes 
of  science,  poets  and  prelates.  Pacheco,  at  once  man 
of  letters,  poet  and  painter,  attracted  a  triple  Pleiades 
around  him.  And  the  teaching !  Pacheco  perchance 
exaggerated  his  opposition  to  Herrera.  It  might  in  truth 
be  declared  of  him  that  he  dreamed  of  the  orthodoxy  of 
painting,  and  would  fain  give  fixed  rules  to  those  who 
followed  inspiration  alone.  His  school,  full  as  it  was  of 
ardent  mysticism,  had  its  infallible  dogmas.  Pacheco 
permitted  not  that  his  pupils  should  dream  as  he  him- 
self had  dreamt.  He  discussed  in  all  sobriety  the  colof 
and  form  of  the  denizens  of  heaven  ;  he  allowed  us 
neither  to  suppress  an  ornament  nor  invent  a  new 
one.  But  this  exaggeration  apart,  he  gave  soul  unto 
his  figures,  he  disposed  his  light  and  shade  with  marvel- 


THE   KING'S  VISIT.  49 

/ous  skill,  and  his  groups  in  relievo  or  to  life  were  im» 
pressed  with  most  rare  grace  and  truthfulness.  If  he 
hath  much  taken  from  the  Grecian,  revealed  to  him 
by  the  splendors  of  the  Venetian  school,  he  hath  likewise 
profited  rarely  by  such  lessons  to  create  a  Spanish  school 
in  Andalusia." 

"Thy  recollection  of  Pacheco  is  indeed  of  good  sa- 
vor," said  the  King. 

"  Ail  who  studied  with  him,  will  support  me  in  my 
Utterance,"  answered  Alonso.  "  Velasquez  hath  taken  his 
daughter  to  wife;  among  his  friends  are,  Lopez  de  Vega, 
Calderon,  the  glory  of  the  Spanish  drama,  Villegas,  the 
ingenious  poet,  Luiz  de  Gangoras,  Miguel  Cervantes.* 
The  models  used  by  this  latter,  in  creating  his  wander- 
ing knights,  likewise  posed  before  us.  In  Seville  was  I 
initiated  into  the  grandeur  of  the  true  artist  life,  and  there 
sounded  I  its  depths.  Pacheco's  dwelling  resembled 
indeed  a  palace,  wheiv,  flowed  freely  the  gold  of  the  New 
World,  and  which  was  enriched  with  the  rarest  master- 
pieces of  art.  Furthermore,  in  that  city,  the  greatest 
commercial  mart  of  the  world,  a  painter's  success  was 
not  confined  to  his  studio.  A  multitude,  an  eager,  enthu- 
siastic multitude,  gave  verdict  upon  his  work.  On  the 
Feast  of  Corpus  Christi  the  streets  through  which  passed 
the  procession  were  one  vast  exposition;  even  upon  the 
steps  of  the  cathedral  were  displayed  all  the  glories  of 
art;  poets  sang  them,  and  the  people  greeted  them  with 
acclamation.  A  young  artist  unknown  on  the  eve  of 
that  day  might  be  famous  on  the  one  which  followed. 
This  was  a  tempting  prospect  for  a  young  ambition." 

*  Miguel  Cervantes,  the  author  of  "  Don  Quixote."  Calderon,  who 
has  been  called  the  poet  of  the  Blessed  Sacrament,  is  the  greatest 
dramatic  writer  of  Spain  ;  his  dramas  are  marvellous  ;  Lope  de 
Vega  is,  perhaps,  her  greatest  poet.  Villegas  and  Luiz  de  Gangoras 
are  pleasing  and  agreeable  versifiers. 


5o  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

"Thy  first  t1  iumphs  date  then  from  that  epoch,"  said 
the  King. 

"  Yea,  sire,  my  first  triumphs  as  a  painter;  but  they  did 
not  long  suffice  for  me.  I  yearned  to  model  in  clay  or  in 
wax,  and  to  sculpture  in  marble.  Hence,  without  com- 
pletely deserting  the  'golden  prison  of  art,' I  studied 
sculpture  under  Martinez  Mantanez,  the  first  sculptor 
of  Spain." 

"He  who  studied  with  Michael  Angelo?" 

"Yea,  sire." 

"  But  how,  since  thou  wert  a  pupil  of  that  great  but 
fiery  master,  couldst  thou  have  learned  the  secret  of 
that  supreme  calm,  which  is  the  highest  rendering  of 
the  word  great  ?" 

"  Because,  likePacheco,  I  strove  to  follow  the  antique." 

"  Thy  progress  was  no  doubt  rapid  ?" 

"So  rapid  or  judged  with  so  much  indulgence,  sire," 
said  Alonso,  "that  I  was  presently  commissioned  to  exe' 
cute  three  retablos  for  the  College  of  Saint  Albert,  where  1 
was  then  painting  with  Zurbaran  and  Pacheco,  and  two 
for  the  monastery  of  Saint  Paula.  These  retablos  were 
solely  my  own  work.  Modelling,  architecture,  and  paint- 
ing !" 

"  Were  they  as  beautiful  as  this  ?"  asked  the  King. 

"They  were  much  praised,  sire  !"  said  Alonso,  "but 
at  this  period  I  lost  my  father.  He  was  then  at  the 
Convent  of  Lebrija,  where  he  was  putting  the  final 
touches  to  the  retablo  of  the  main  altar.  He  died  before 
he  had  time  to  finish  his  work,  and  I  was  called  to  com- 
plete it.  I  did  so  with  sentiments  of  twofold  respect  and 
profound  sorrow.  When  this  monument  of  mourning 
and  of  prayer  was  done  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  happiest 
phase  of  my  life  was  over,  and  that  a  funeral  veil  was 
stretched  before  the  future.  In  good  sooth  there  was 
naught  to  justify  these  apprehensions,  yet  did  they 


THE  KING'S  VISIT.  51 

never  leave  me.  Glory  could  not  compensate  me  for 
affection,  and  the  joy  which  I  might  have  felt  on  seeing 
the  Flemish  artists  crowding  to  Seville  to  copy  my  work 
perished  in  the  thought  that  henceforth  I  was  alone, 
alone  in  the  world." 

•'  Fame  cannot  then  console  us  for  everything,  Alonso," 
said  the  King. 

"  It  hath  not  even  the  power  to  make  us  forget,"  an- 
swered Alonso. 

He  was  silent  after  that.  He  laid  down  his  pencils 
and  palette  and  drew  back  to  judge  the  effect  of  his  first 
rough  sketcn.  But  the  pause  seemed  more  for  the  pur- 
pose of  mastering  his  emotion  than  of  observing  his 
work. 

"  Well  ?"  sa;d  the  King. 

"  I  trust  your  majesty  is  satisfied.  But  I  fear  that  my 
story — " 

"  Resume  it,  i  pray  thee,  Alonso.  Fear  not,  it  cannot 
seem  long  to  foe." 

"Henceforth  it  is  sad,  sire." 

"  But  all  the  more  human  for  that,"  said  the  King. 

The  artist  snook  his  head,  seized  his  palette,  and  re- 
sumed in  an  agitated  voice: 

"I  was  right  m  saying,  sire,  that  I  was  henceforth  done 
with  happiness.  My  youth  lies  buried  with  my  father." 

"  I  can  image  well  the  poignancy  of  thy  grief,"  said  the 
King,  "but  at  thine  age  sorrow  is  speedily  consoled,  and 
so  many  new  emotions  must  have  seized  upon  thy  mind, 
and  thy  heart  too,  perhaps." 

"I  promised  to  tell  thee  all,  sire.  The  more  so  that 
thou  knowest  half  that  secret,  the  memory  of  which  still 
overwhelms  me." 

"  Ah,"  said  the  King,  "  thou  speakest  now  of  that  mis- 
fortunate  duel  ?" 

"  Yea,  sire.    The  cause  was  futile,  merely  a  question  of 


\2  THE   MONK'S    PARDON. 

art.  Sebastian  Llano  was  gentle,  timid,  and  pious,  com* 
prehending  no  other  school  than  that  of  Morales  *  the 
Divine.  He  painted  like  him,  not  only  with  the  inspira- 
tion of  talent,  but  with  piety,  Virgins  with  the  sword- 
pierced  heart,  or  Christ  dying  in  the  arms  of  angels. 
His  work  was  only  less  estimable  than  his  character. 
One  day,  in  the  course  of  a  discussion  on  painting,  he 
upheld  Morales,  whilst  I  extolled  Herrera  el  Viejo.  This 
question  became  the  occasion  of  a  direct  and  personal 
quarrel.  We  fought  with  swords,  and  Sebastian  fell. 
Grief-stricken  I  rushed  towards  him,  shedding  tears  of 
sincere  sorrow,  and  imploring  him  to  pardon  me  his 
death.  He  forgave  me  with  angelic  sweetness,  repeat- 
ing only: 

"  '  I  leave  Inez  without  a  protector,  bereft  of  all  means 
of  support.  Let  my  sister  find  a  brother  in  thee.' 

"  I  swore  to  take  his  place  in  her  regard,  and  Sebastian 
forgetting  himself  once  more,  cried  out: 

"  '  Now,  lose  not  a  moment  in  leaving  Seville.  Thou 
knowest  the  severity  of  the  law  against  dueling.  If  I 
survive,  forget  me;  if  I  die,  remember  Inez.' 

"  I  had  my  poor  comrade  brought  to  his  lodgings, 
where  I  entreated  his  sister  to  pardon  me  my  crime, 
and  to  remember  that,  whensoever  and  howsoever, 
Alonso  Cano  would  hold  himself  bound  by  his  honor  and 
his  hopes  of  saltation  to  respond  to  her  appeal  Then 
I  left  Seville  and  came  to  Madrid. 

"Velasquez  was  here.     I  knew  his  generous  and  chiv- 

*  Luis  de  Morales,  a  painter  of  the  Castilian  school,  was  surnamed 
the  Divine,  principally  from  his  great  fastidiousness  in  the  choice  of 
subjects,  which  bore  the  imprint  of  an  ardent  piety.  Ht  drew  with 
care  and  correctness,  always  faithful  in  anatomical  details.  He  ex- 
celled in  the  expression  of  religious  grief,  especially  in  such  subjects 
as  the  Ecce  Homo,  Mater  Dolorosa,  or  the  like.  He  is  somewhat 
hard  in  his  outlines,  and  has  other  defects  common  to  his  period. 


THE  KING'S  VISIT.  53 

artous  character,  and  felt  certain  he  would  not  refuse  me 
his  support.  I  did  not  conceal  anything  from  him.  He 
reassured  me,  commended  me  to  the  Count  d'Olivarez, 
and  thou,  sire,  didst  deign  to  take  under  thy  protection 
a  man  more  unhappy  even  than  culpable.  I  say  un- 
happy, for  never,  never  can  I  forget  the  dying  glance  of 
Llano  y  Valdez,  and  I  know  that  one  day  I  must  dearly 
expiate  this  crime  of  my  youth.  Whatever  misfortune 
strikes  me,  and  strike  me  it  will  and  must,  I  am  con- 
vinced it  will  be  the  punishment  of  this  fratricidal  duel. 
Often  hath  my  uncertain  temper  been  objected  to  me, 
for  none  can  see  a  reason  to  justify  it;  my  friends  have 
reproached  me  for  sudden  and  unto  them  unreasonable 
fits  of  despondency,  but  they  cannot  divine  that  at  such 
times  I  am  thinking  of  Sebastian,  dead  at  the  point  of 
my  sword,  and  of  that  weeping  orphan-girl  whose  voice 
I  have  never  since  heard." 

"  Velasquez,"  said  the  King,  in  a  tone  almost  affection- 
ate, "  is  a  dear  friend  of  mine,  but  he  hath  rendered  me 
no  service  so  great  as  that  of  keeping  thee  at  Madrid.  I 
was  not  slow  to  appreciate  the  value  of  thy  work.  Once 
I  had  beheld  the  monument  for  Holy  Week,  executed  by 
thee  for  the  Convent  of  Saint  Gil,  and  thy  marvellous 
triumphal  arch  erected  at  the  gate  of  Guadalaxara  for 
the  entry  of  Queen  Mary  Anne  of  Austria,  I  discerned 
that  vigor  tempered  by  grace  which  renders  thy  works 
so  different  from  those  of  any  other  painter.  I  confided 
to  thee  the  artistic  education  of  the  Infante,  Don  Bal- 
thazar, and — " 

"Ah,  sire,"  cried  Alonso,  "in  coming  to-day  to  the 
artist's  studio,  and  commissioning  him  to  paint  thy  por- 
trait, thou  hast  done  more  than  he  would  ever  have  dared 
t<j  expect." 

Philip  rose. 

"I  know  thy  worth,  Alonso,"  he  said;  "thy  style  it 


54  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

thine  own,  it  differs  from  that  of  any  other  artist;  in  tky 
paintings  one  perceives  the  sculptor,  and  it  is  to  thy  pro- 
ficifcncy  in  these  various  arts  that  thou  owest  thine  in- 
disputable superiority  over  all  thy  rivals." 

Then  regarding  the  sketch  just  made  by  Alonso,  he 
added: 

"  It  is  true  to  the  life." 

"Thou  dost  overpower  me  with  kindness,  sire,"  said 
Alonso. 

"Do  not  forget  my  cathedral,"  continued  the  King. 
"I  would  that  it  be  worthy  the  King  of  Spain  who  erects 
it,  since  whatever  thou  dost  it  can  never  be  worthy  the 
King  of  Heaven.  So  courage,  Alonso.  Strive  to  cast 
aside  thy  painful  memories.  Remember  that  thy  master 
esteems  thee  and  thy  sovereign  loves  thee.  Henceforth 
Spain  need  not  envy  Italy,  for  she  hath  her  Michael 
Angelo." 

And  Philip  IV.,  accompanying  this  royal  flattery  with 
a  smile  quitted  the  artist's  studio,  leaving  Alonso  radiant 
with  joy  and  gratified  pride. 


A  LETTER.  55 


CHAPTER  IV. 
A  LETTER. 

THAT  evening  Mercedes  was  in  one  of  her  gayest  and 
most  charming  moods.  Her  dream  was  more  than  real- 
ized. The  day  before,  the  prospect  of  a  ball  at  the 
Count  d'Olivarez  was  sufficient  for  her  happiness,  and 
now  the  King  had  himself  invited  her  to  balls  at  the 
court.  What  a  glorious  occasion  to  display  the  toilet 
promised  her  by  Alonso.  She  could  think  of  nothing 
else.  Whilst  Philip  IV.  sitting  to  her  husband  in  the 
studio  conversed  on  art,  Mercedes  planned  her  costume 
and  all  its  various  embellishments  with  Jacintha.  It 
never  once  occurred  to  her  that  this  ball  would  be  a 
great  expense  to  Alonso;  she  knew  he  was  generous,  and 
besides,  she  must  at  any  price  eclipse  the  wife  of  Velas- 
quez, famous  throughout  Madrid  for  the  elegance  of  her 
costumes. 

Alonso,  more  deeply  touched  than  he  could  express  by 
the  kindness  of  the  king,  forgot  for  the  time  being  the 
fatal  shadow  which  darkened  his  life,  and  listened  smil- 
ingly to  Mercedes'  chatter. 

"Come,"  cried  she,  "thou  wilt  give  me  four  hundred 
ducats  for  my  costume  ?" 

"  Oh,"  cried  Alonso,  "that  is  a  large  sum." 

"Thou  dost  make  so  much  money." 

"I  lead  the  life  of  a  prince,  Mercedes." 

"  I  am  going  for  the  first  time  to  the  court." 

"  Which  is  in  truth  a  great  misfortune." 

"Wherefore?" 

"  Because  thou  wilt  desire  to  return  thither." 


56  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

"  The  better  for  thee;  thine  influence  there  will  in- 
crease." 

"Yea,  but,  and  thou  askest  of  me  each  time  four 
hundred  ducats — " 

"  Nay,  nay,"  cried  she,  "  I  promise  henceforth  to  be 
sensible." 

"It  is  I  who  am  lacking  in  sense  when  I  yield  to  thee," 
said  Alonso. 

"  How  dost  thou  make  that  appear  ?" 

"These  four  hundred  ducats  are  in  truth  all  that  I 
hold  in  reserve.  Thou  knowest  me  well  enough  to  be 
assured  that  I  would  never  ask  a  favor  of  Velasquez  or 
of  any  other  friend.  Now  in  life  we  must  needs  consider 
the  unforeseen." 

"The  unforeseen  is  the  court  ball,"  said  Mercedes. 

"I  am  very  weak,  Mercedes." 

"Only  kind,"  said  she.     "Wilt  thou  promise?" 

"Yea,  and  yet — " 

"Oh,  I  know  what  thou  would'st  say:  Wait  until  the 
morrow.  The  night  bringeth  counsel.  Thou  hast  given 
thy  word.  As  a  noble  Spaniard  and  a  good  husband 
thou  art  bound  to  keep  it.  To-night,  even  now,  thou 
must  give  me  the  four  hundred  ducats." 

"Tyrant  !" 

"  Dost  agree  ?" 

"I  must." 

Mercedes  held  out  both  hands  to  her  husband. 

"I  was  never  so  happy  in  my  life,"  she  said  impul- 
sively. 

"So  much  the  worse,"  said  Alonso  gravely. 

"  Wherefore  ?"  asked  his  frivolous  young  wife. 

"  Because,  my  child,"  he  answered,  "  one  runneth  great 
risk  who  placeth  her  happiness  in  things  so  futile  as  a 
festal  robe  and  a  ball,  even  at  the  court.  Thy  twentr 


A  LETTER.  57 

years,  Mercedes,  have  brought  thee  but  small  experi- 
ence." 

"  And  thy  wisdom  repels  me  at  times,"  cried  his  wife. 
"I  shall  have  my  twenty  years  but  once,  permit  then  that 
I  enjoy  them.  Whilst  I  am  young  leave  me  to  my  mirth, 
and  go  not  hence  to-night.  We  shall  converse,  thou 
shalt  read  to  me  the  poesy  of  Soto  Rioja,  and  I  will  sing 
to  thee  the  airs  in  which  thou  dost  most  delight.  Frivol- 
ous though  I  be  I  love  thee  dearly,  Alonso,  more  dearly 
far  than  thou  knowest,  for  did  I  not  know  that  I  possess 
thy  whole  heart  I  should  be  jealous,  yea,  I  should  die  of 
jealousy." 

"Are  there  who  seek  to  instill  doubts  into  thy  mind  ?" 
said  Alonso  gently.  "  Ah,  child,  have  a  care.  To  profit 
little  by  the  good  we  possess  is  ingratitude.  Beware 
that  thou  comprehendest  thine." 

"Thou  art  right,"  cried  Mercedes,  "ever  right." 

Alonso  and  his  young  wife  then  repaired  to  a  little 
boudoir  oddly  yet  beautifully  furnished,  and  Mercedes 
taking  down  a  guitar  from  the  wall  began  to  play  with 
delightful  animation.  She  was  beginning  to  sing  in  a 
voice  clear  and  thrilling  as  a  nightingale,  when  a  lackey 
appeared,  and  offered  Alonso  a  letter.  As  he  read  he 
grew  deadly  pale  and  seemed  overcome  by  some  strange 
emotion. 

Mercedes  perceiving  her  husband's  agitation  asked 
uneasily: 

"  Are  thy  tidings  evil  ?" 

"Not  so,"  he  answered;  "yet  it  is  an  urgent  matter, 
and  I  must  even  quit  thee  forthwith." 

"  Forthwith  and  thus,  when  thou  hast  pledged  me  this 
evening  ?" 

"I  would  fain  have  spent  it  with  thee,"  he  said;  "  but 
I  must  perforce  depart." 

"Perforce!"  said  Mercedes,  with  peculiar  emphasis. 


58  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

"  At  the  call  of  an  unforeseen  yet  imperious  duty,"  he 
answered. 

"  May  I  not  at  least  learn  what  it  is  ?"  asked  Mer- 
cedes. 

"  Thou  mayest  not.     The  duty  includes  a  secret." 

"  It  is  passing  strange  to  deny  me  this  knowledge," 
said  she,  somewhat  bitterly.  "The  perfume  of  that  let- 
ter, the  quality  of  the  paper,  all,  all  fill  me  with  a  strange 
misgiving.  In  fine,  I  would  know  from  whom  this  letter 
cometh." 

"  Be  generous,  and  ask  me  not,"  said  Alonso.  "  It  is 
an  appeal  to  my  honor,  to  my  friendship,  to  a  memory." 

"This  letter  is  from  a  woman,"  said  Mercedes,  coldly. 

"  It  is,"  said  Alonso;  "  I  cannot  stoop  to  falsehood." 

"And  I  may  not  read  it  ?" 

"  Nay,"  said  Alonso,  "  my  honor  is  concerned  therein." 

"  But  our  honor  is  one  and  the  same,"  said  Mercedes. 

"  Dear  child,"  said  her  husband,  tenderly,  "  I  will  tell 
thee  later.  Do  not  voluntarily  mar  thy  joy." 

"  I  will  no  longer  be  held  for  naught,"  cried  the  young 
wife,  angrily. 

"Enough,  Mercedes!  enough!"  said  Alonso,  imperi- 
ously; "seest  thou  not  that  I  suffer?  Add  not  then  to 
this  bitterness.  If  the  secret  herein  contained  could 
have  been  confided  to  thee,  that  would  I  have  already 
done." 

So  saying,  he  rose  to  depart. 

"  Leave  me  not,"  cried  Mercedes  with  a  strange  pas- 
sion, which  impressed  the  artist  in  his  own  despite, 
"leave  me  not!  for  and  thou  departest  to-night  there 
whither  thou  art  going,  I  have  a  presentiment  that  evil 
will  come  of  it." 

The  injustice  of  his  wife  so  irritated  Alonso  that  the 
veins  of  his  forehead  swelled,  his  nostrils  quivered,  his 
teeth  were  clenched,  till  Mercedes,  starting  back  in  horror, 


A   LETTER.  59 

recalled  him  more  quickly  to  himself  than  anything 
could  have  done.  This  involuntary  movement  of  hers 
humiliated  him  profoundly. 

"  What,"  thought  he,  "  when  I  have  scarce  finished  re- 
citing to  the  King  the  terrible  consequences  of  my  quar- 
rel with  Sebastian,  I  am  again  the  sport  of  this  blind 
rage  which  I  had  supposed  forever  overcome.  I  deemed 
not  that  the  evil  lay  so  deep;  and,  withal,  this  poor 
young  creature  must  not  be  held  responsible  for  my 
faults." 

Thinking  thus,  he  approached  Mercedes  gently. 

"  Have  confidence  in  me,"  he  said.  "  Perchance,  later 
it  may  be  within  my  power  to  tell  thee  where  I  go  to- 
night. That  hitherto  I  have  tried  to  make  thee  happy 
even  thou  must  admit.  A  moment  since  I  promised  thee 
in  all  sincerity  to  do  everything  to  please  thee,  and  grat- 
ify thy  caprice.  What  has  now  occurred  neither  thou 
nor  I  could  foresee.  Providence  wills  it  so,  do  thou 
submit  to  its  decrees.  I  ask  of  thee  a  great  sacrifice,  if 
I  judge  by  the  ardor  of  thy  entreaties.  I  must  go,  and  I 
know  not  when  I  will  return." 

"  Thou  hast  then  a  journey  to  take  ?" 

"  Perchance." 

"  What!     Thou  knowst  not  ?" 

"  In  all  sincerity,  I  know  not." 

"  But  she  who  thus  commands  thy  presence — " 

"  Hath  a  claim  upon  me  which  I  may  not  overlook." 

"  She  hath  this  claim  upon  thee,  how?" 

"  Through  a  death,"  said  Alonso,  in  a  low,  agitated 
voice. 

Mercedes,  with  an  effort  at  self-control,  continued: 

"  Hence,  if  thou  dost  not  return  to-night — " 

"  Await  me  not,"  said  Alonso,  "and  before  sleeping 
pray  to  God  for  thy  husband." 

"  But  if  thou  goest,"  cried  Mercedes,  "  I  can  neither  go 


60  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

to  the  ball  of  the  Count  d'Olivarez  nor  to  that  of  the 
King." 

"  No,  Mercedes,  but  rest  assured,  I  will  compensate 
thee  later  for  such  privation." 

With  an  effort  Alonso  proceeded: 

"  Renouncfe,  I  implore  thee,  Mercedes,  all  thought  of 
these  pleasures;  it  is  wiser.  An  imperious  reason  com- 
pelleth  me  to  dispose  this  very  night  of  the  sum  which  1 
had  so  joyfully  placed  at  thy  command." 

"  Thou  mayest  go,  Alonso,"  said  Mercedes,  in  an  icy 
tone;  "  but  on  thy  return  thou  wilt  not  find  me  here." 

"  Great  God!  what  wouldst  thou  do  ?" 

"  Seek  another  refuge  till  such  time  as  thou  shall  hold 
me  in  esteem  sufficient  to  make  me  a  sharer  in  thy  se- 
crets." 

"Ah,  thou  art  cruel,  cruel,"  cried  Alonso,  in  a  tone  of 
mingled  grief  and  tenderness.  "  Thou  torturest  me  with 
thy  woman's  whims  and  thy  childish  jealousy;  thou 
wouldst  lead  me  to  betray  my  faith,  my  conscience,  and 
to  confide  to  thee  a  secret  which  is  not  mine.  Thou 
wouldst  make  me  in  very  truth  the  Judas  of  beings  who 
have  placed  their  trust  in  me.  One  day  thou  wilt  regret 
what  thou  hast  made  me  suffer.  God  grant  that  it  be  not 
too  late." 

"  Stay,"  cried  his  wife. 

"  Farewell,"  said  Alonso. 

And  without  looking  back  lest  the  tears  of  his  wife 
might  weaken  his  resolution,  he  quitted  the  room. 

He  rushed  into  a  plainly-furnished  apartment,  drew 
out  a  key  from  his  pocket,  and  opened  a  cabinet,  richly 
inlaid  with  amber  and  ivory.  In  one  of  the  numerous 
drawers  of  this  cabinet  were  ducats,  with  which  he  has- 
tily filled  his  pockets,  and  closing  the  cabinet  again 
went  out.  In  the  vestibule  he  met  a  lackey,  who  rose 
respectfully,  and  to  whom  he  said: 


A  LETTER.  6 1 

"  Thou  needst  not  await  me,  Juan.  If  I  return  to- 
night at  all  it  will  be  late.  Moreover,  I  have  the  little 
key." 

A  moment  later  Alonso  was  walking  rapidly  down  the 
street.  Meanwhile.  Mercedes  remained  alone,  a  prey  to 
a  twofold  despair  at  not  having  learned  Alonso's  secret, 
and  at  the  thought  of  missing  the  King's  ball. 

As  we  have  said  Mercedes  was  of  a  weak  and  frivolous 
nature.  Educated  by  a  mother  who  thought  more  of 
her  toilet  than  of  her  duties,  she  had  not  learned  to  find 
a  consolation  for  all  the  troubles  of  life  in  religioa 
The  least  grief  swept  over  her  like  a  storm  wind. 
Dofia  Soledad,  her  mother,  had  frequently  impressed 
upon  her  that  a  woman  should  be  absolute  mistress  of 
the  house;  she  had  invariably  quoted  her  own  example, 
and  as  Mercedes'  father  was  a  model  of  conjugal  docility, 
the  illustration  had  some  weight.  Dofia  Soledad's  sec- 
ond maxim  was  that  a  woman's  beauty  was  a  power 
without  appeal,  and  that  everything  must  give  place  to 
exterior  graces. 

From  this  false  education  it  followed  that  Mercedes, 
while  making  every  effort  to  heighten  and  preserve  the 
physical  charms  with  which  Heaven  had  endowed  her, 
totally  neglected  the  study  of  those  things  that  give  an 
enduring  charm  to  life,  and  the  practice  of  virtue  which 
is  its  consolation.  Her  selfishness  became  immeasura- 
bly developed,  a  selfishness  more  childish  than  deliberate, 
but  often  dangerous,  and  sometimes  cruel.  Alonso 
Cano,  too  busy  with  higher  things  to  attend  to  the  de- 
tails of  their  household,  usually  accepted  upon  all  such 
points  the  opinion  of  Mercedes,  whose  whims  were  its 
moving  levers.  Instead  of  being  the  tender  master,  the 
educator  of  this  light  and  thoughtless  creature,  he  left 
her  in  her  ignorance,  and  forgot  in  the  distractions  of 
his  art  and  the  urgency  of  his  work  that  this  soul  was 


62  THE  MONK'S  I-ARDON. 

placed  in  his  hands  as  a  precious  deposit  for  which  God 
would  hold  him  accountable.  He  regarded  the  storms 
which  obscured  the  domestic  atmosphere  as  those  summer 
showers  which  arise  and  pass  away  between  two  rays  of 
sunshine.  Had  he  not  found  by  experience  that  Mer- 
cedes' hottest  wrath  was  calmed  by  the  promise  of  some 
new  ornament?  It  never  occurred  to  him  that  by  acting 
in  such  a  manner  and  encouraging  Mercedes  in  her 
levity  he  was  lowering  the  dignity  of  marriage  as  well 
as  his  own  authority.  Thus,  when  he  left  the  house, 
Alonso  knew  that  his  wife  was  annoyed,  but  was  far  from 
comprehending  the  depth  of  her  indignation.  A  fit 
of  jealous  fury  had,  in  fact,  seized  upon  Mercedes. 
For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  was  capable  of  a  shame- 
ful action,  and  unhesitatingly  and  remorselessly  sought 
means  to  accomplish  her  end.  She  knew  that  Alonso 
usually  placed  his  important  papers  and  his  money  in  an 
Italian  cabinet,  which  stood  in  an  adjoining  room.  The 
key  of  this  had  never  been  in  Mercedes'  possession. 
But  now  in  her  anger  she  resolved  to  discover  its  se- 
crets. Without  stopping  to  consider  the  consequences  of 
her  act,  she  took  a  finely-tempered  steel  dagger  and  in- 
troduced the  point  of  it  into  the  lock.  She  was  small 
and  delicate,  but  at  this  moment  she  seemed  possessed  of 
a  strange  nervous  force.  The  lock  gave  way,  and  Mer- 
cedes' little  hands  were  soon  busy  in  the  drawers. 

A  few  hours  before  Alonso  had  told  her  that  he  had 
four  hundred  ducats  in  ready  money;  again  he  had  de-- 
clared  that  he  must  apply  them  to  a  mysterious  use,  and 
he  spoke  the  truth,  for  the  sum  had  disappeared.  Ex- 
cept some  few  insignificant  papers  Mercedes  found 
nothing  which  could  enlighten  her  upon  what  she  wished 
to  know,  or  reveal  to  her  the  secrets  of  that  evening. 
She  was  about  to  close  the  cabinet,  when  a  crumpled  and 
torn  letter  met  her  eye,  stowed  away  in  one  corner  of  a 


A  LETTER.  63 

drawer.  Mercedes  took  it  and  recognized  it  at  once. 
She  saw  that  the  writing  was  that  of  a  woman,  and  with 
dry  and  feverish  eyes  read  this  missive: 

"  Thou  didst  once  swear  to  grant  me  at  any  time  so- 
ever the  service  I  might  ask,  did  this  service  even  cost 
thee  life  and  fortune.  I  need  thee  now.  Come  to-night. 
A  hundred  paces  from  the  palace  gate  thou  shalt  find  a 
guide  who  will  conduct  thee  to  me.  Bring  with  thee  all 
the  gold  that  is  at  thy  disposal.  My  welfare  depends 
wholly  on  thee.  INEZ." 

Having  read  this  letter  Mercedes  fell  like  one  strick- 
en. The  sound  of  her  fall  and  her  piercing  screams 
brought  old  Juana,  her  nurse,  to  her  side.  She  raised  her 
in  her  arms  like  a  child  and  laid  her  on  the  bed,  where 
she  sought  to  bring  her  back  to  consciousness  by  softly 
bathing  her  temples  and  applying  restoratives.  Slowly 
Mercedes  opened  her  eyes.  A  flood  of  tears  gushed 
forth,  and  she  hid  her  face  in  her  hands  without  reply- 
ing to  the  questions  of  Juana,  who,  distressed  beyond 
measure,  could  not  divine  the  cause  of  this  violent  out- 
burst of  grief.  In  vain  did  the  devoted  creature  call 
upon  Mercedes  with  maternal  tenderness.  Her  young 
mistress  made  no  answer,  but  continued  to  sob  more  and 
more  bitterly. 

At  length,  exhausted  by  her  very  grief,  Mercedes  grew 
calm,  or  at  least  her  despairing  sobs  ceased;  she  sud- 
denly dried  her  eyes,  and  sitting  up  in  bed  took  Juana's 
hands  in  both  her  own. 

"Thou  lovest  me  ?"  she  asked,  excitedly. 

"  Ah,  dear  child,  canst  thou  ask  ?" 

"  Thou  hast  pledged  thyself  to  forsake  me  never  ?" 

"Ay;  and  that  pledge  will  be  kept  sacred,  Mercedes." 

"Thanks,  oh  thanks!"  cried  Mercedes;  "  for  weighed 
down  by  my  burden  of  grief  and  my  wretched  memories 
I  shall  have  thee  at  least  to  console  me." 


64  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

So  saying  the  young  woman  threw  her  arms  round 
Juana's  neck,  and  remained  thus  silent  a  moment. 
Then  she  arose,  and  with  a  tranquillity  which  surprised 
the  nurse  opened  her  wardrobe  and  began  to  take  out 
her  brocade  dresses  and  her  lace  mantillas,  throwing 
them  upon  the  chairs.  She  next  seized  a  jewel-case  and 
spread  the  contents  upon  the  table. 

"  Help  me,  Juana,"  she  said. 

"  To  do  what  ?"  cried  the  nurse,  more  alarmed  by  her 
mistress's  calm  than  she  had  been  by  her  tears. 

"  Dost  not  comprehend  that  I  am  going  hence  ?"  said 
Mercedes. 

"  Away  from  this  house  ?"  said  the  nurse,  aghast. 

"Where  I  have  been  insulted?  Yea!"  cried  Mer- 
cedes. 

"Thou  wouldst  abandon  thy  husband  ?" 

"Who  has  ceased  to  love  me," said  Mercedes  icily. 

"  Oh,  but  it  would  be  folly,  ay,  and  shame,  Mercedes. 
Thou  wilt  never  do  that,  my  beloved  mistress,  thou  wilt 
never  do  that;  and  thou  wouldst  not  see  thy  faithful  Ju- 
ana die  of  grief.  With  what  canst  thou  reproach  Sefior 
Alonso?  Never  was  husband  more  kind.  He  yields  to 
all  thy  whims.  For  thee  he  is  more  indulgent  than  a 
father,  and  as  affectionate  as  a  lover.  His  genius  has 
made  thee  the  envy  of  all  other  women," 

"His  genius!"  said  Mercedes  with  deep  bitterness. 
"Ah,  perchance  it  is  to  that  I  owe  my  present  anguish. 
Were  I  but  the  wife  of  some  obscure  artisan,  none  would 
envy  me  what  thou  callest  my  happiness.  Yea,  I  was 
happy,  or  so  I  deemed,  for  my  happiness  was  but  a  mock- 
ery, a  delusion.  Whilst  I  congratulated  myself  upon  my 
choice,  I  was  an  object  of  contempt  and  derision.  But, 
if  hitherto  I  have  been  blind  and  senseless  I  will  no 
longer  tamely  submit  to  insult;  but,  defied  to  my  face,  I 


A  LETTER.  65 

will  fly,  cursing  him  who  has  descended  to  such  per- 
fidy." 

"  Sefior  Alonso  capable  of  perfidy  ?"  cried  Juana;  "  im- 
possible!" 

"  Wouldst  thou  have  proofs  ?"  said  Mercedes. 

"Yea,  and  strong  proofs,"  said  Juana;  "plain  must 
they  be  indeed  before  I  could  doubt  the  honor  of  a  mas- 
ter whom  I  esteem  as  much  as  I  love  thee." 

Mercedes  took  the  letter,  which  was  lying  upon  the 
bed,  and  read  it  aloud  to  Juana,  in  a  voice  trembling 
with  anger. 

"Well?"  she  asked,  with  a  sort  of  fierce  joy. 

"  Appearances  are  no  doubt  against  Sefior  Alonso," 
said  Juana;  "but  I  declare  to  thee — " 

"Is  not  that  letter  proof  sufficient  !"  cried  Mercedes. 

"  Nay,"  said  the  old  woman,  gravely;  "that  lettercon- 
cealeth,  perchance,  some  mystery.  Recall  all  the  proofs 
Sefior  Alonso  hath  given  thee  of  his  affection.  Before 
thou  allowest  thyself  to  condemn  him  as  base  and  per- 
fidious reflect  upon  the  nobility  and  generosity  of  his 
character." 

"  Hypocrisy  is  his  crowning  sin,"  said  Mercedes,  bit- 
terly. 

"  No,  Mercedes,"  said  Juana,  warmly,  "  no.  If  Sefior 
Alonso  were  not  a  Catholic  I  might,  perchance,  suspect 
him.  But  he  is  a  Christian,  a  sincere  and  fervent  Chris- 
tian. His  genius  even  is  inspired  by  his  faith,  and  kneel- 
ing before  his  Madonnas  I  pray  with  new  fervor.  Child, 
thou  must  not  go  till  thou  hast  questioned  him;  thou 
must  not  accuse  him  without  hearing  his  story.  It  would 
be  cruel  and  unjust,  and  yet  thou  art  by  nature  kind 
and  equitable.  When  he  returns  open  thy  heart  to  him 
with  its  doubts  and  its  anguish." 

"  Have  I  not  already  questioned  him  ?"  asked  Mer- 
cedes. 


66  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

"  The  secret  is  not  his,"  said  Juana.  "  Do  not  torture 
thyself  needlessly.  A  few  hours'  reflection  can  do  no 
harm.  Let  Sefior  Alonso  return  thither.  Be  not  rash. 
Lay  aside  till  to-morrow  thy  project  of  a  flight,  which 
must  ruin  two  lives.  And  kneel,  Mercedes,  now,  asking 
courage  to  drink  this  bitter  chalice." 

Mercedes  made  no  answer,  but  still  crumpled  in  her 
hand  the  accusing  note.  With  affectionate  violence 
Juana  took  the  letter,  and  throwing  it  to  the  other  side 
of  the  room,  joined  Mercedes'  hands. 

"  When  thou  wert  little,"  she  said,  "  I  joined  thy  hands 
thus;  and  thou  didst  repeat  after  me  the  prayers  which  I 
loved  to  teach  thee.  Once  more,  Mercedes,  and  per- 
chance for  the  last  time,  follow  the  counsels  of  thy  old 
nurse.  Call  upon  Heaven,  which  heals  all  wounds  and 
dries  all  tears.  Have  recourse  to  Mary,  whose  heart  was 
pierced  with  seven  swords,  and  ask  her  for  courage  to 
bear  this  trial.  I  dare  assure  thee  it  will  be  short. 
My  mind  is  not  prejudiced  like  thine.  I  reason,  when 
thou  dost  abandon  thyself  to  the  violence  of  jealousy. 
Shouldst  thou,  alas!  be  right,  examine  thy  conscience 
before  God,  who  sends  thee  this  trial,  perchance,  to 
bring  thee  back  to  Him  and  to  thy  most  serious  duties. 
For  hast  thou  not  been  light  and  childish  beside  thy 
husband,  who  is  so  great  in  power  and  talent  ?" 

Mercedes  stood  silent  and  grave. 

"Pray,"  said  Juana,  "pray  to-night,  and  to-morrow 
thou  wilt  be  consoled." 

"But  should  I  still  persist  in  my  design,  wilt  thou 
promise  to  accompany  me  ?"  asked  Mercedes. 

"  I  promise,"  said  Juana. 

The  old  woman  then  began  to  repeat  aloud  a  prayer, 
in  which  Mercedes  did  not  at  first  join.  But  soon,  with 
some  recollection,  no  doubt,  of  childish  piety,  and  induced 
by  her  imperious  need  of  some  support,  she  repeated  the 


A   LETTER.  67 

holy  words.  True,  she  did  not  put  therein  the  fervor  of 
her  childhood,  but  slowly  the  sentiments  of  faith,  hope, 
and  love  expressed  in  the  prayer  entered  into  her  soul. 
Her  heart  grew  softer,  her  mind  more  calm,  and  when 
the  last  words  were  said  .she  kissed  the  crucifix  which 
her  nurse  held  out  to  her.  She  accepted  her  trial  as  a 
Christian  at  last. 

Then  gently  Juana  undressed  her,  unbraided  her  long 
tresses,  and  saw  her  safely  in  bed.  She  lit  a  night-light 
before  the  statue  of  Mary,  and  Mercedes,  consoled  by  the 
words  of  hope  which  her  nurse  had  whispered,  fell  peace- 
fully asleep.  Then  Juana  crept  out  of  the  room  on  tip- 
toe, closing  the  door  softly  lest  the  sound  might  awaken 
her  young  mistress. 


68  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 


CHAPTER  V. 
THE  CONSPIRATORS 

A  HIGH,  narrow  house,  dark  and  sombre,  with  crum- 
bling, mould)'  walls,  and  odd,  irregular  casements,  present- 
ed a  curious  and  unprepossessing  aspect  to  the  passers- 
by.  It  would  seem  as  if  the  architect  had  made  a  wager 
to  crowd  as  much  disorder  as  possible  into  the  smallest 
space.  A  few  rickety  steps  led  up  to  the  door  which,  with 
its  great  protruding  nails  and  rusty  grating,  gave  prom- 
ise how  dismally  the  hinges  would  creak  when  it  was 
opened,  or  rather  held  slightly  ajar,  to  admit  the  visitor. 

It  was  in  every  point  of  view,  and  notably  amongst 
all  the  others  in  the  street,  a  suspicious-looking  house. 
It  might  have  been  a  den  of  thieves,  a  haunt  of  the  lowest 
characters,  or  the  meeting-place  of  conspirators. 

Some  sinister  association  connected  with  the  place  had 
beyond  all  doubt,  brought  it  to  its  present  dilapidated 
condition.  For  ten  years  at  least  it  had  been  left  to 
cobwebs,  mildew,  and  memory.  Scarcely  ever  was  a 
light  seen  shining  through  those  dusty  panes;  and  when, 
perchance,  the  feeble  glimmer  of  a  lamp  came  thence, 
the  passer-by  could  fancy  an  assemblage  of  ghosts  hold- 
ing solemn  conclave  in  those  dim,  deserted  rooms. 

Yet  upon  the  night  of  the  i4th  of  June,  1644,  a  young 
man  and  woman  poorly  clad,  and  bearing  about  them 
the  impress  of  untoward  fortune,  sat  in  one  of  the  bare 
and  almost  unfurnished  rooms  of  the  house. 

The  man  seemed  engrossed  by  some  painful  and  all- 
absorbing  thought,  whilst  his  companion  eagerly  watched 
the  changing  expressions  play  over  his  proud  and  strong- 
ly-marked face.  Despair  was  in  every  line  thereof. 


THE  CONSPIRATORS.  69 

"Inez,"  cried  he,  "thou  must  in  thy  heart  hold  me 
guilty  of  cruel  want  of  foresight.  Wherefore  did  I  as- 
sociate thy  youth  and  inexperience  with  the  desperate 
chances  of  a  life  like  mine  ?  My  very  love  for  thee  should 
have  been  the  strongest  motive  which  forbade  me  to 
unite  thy  existence  with  mine  own.  Thou  hast  thy 
youth,  and  whosoever  hath  youth  hath  hope.  A  peace- 
ful and  retired  home  would  have  best  beseemed  thy 
tastes  and  inclinations.  Yet  I  have  brought  thee  into 
*he  midst  of  tumult  and  adventure  which  menaces  our 
very  lives." 

"  Jose,"  said  his  wife,  gently,  "  when  I  took  thy  name, 
and  pledged  my  faith  to  thee  before  God's  altar,  I  swore 
to  bear  my  part  in  all  thine  evil  fortune.  Yet  even  that 
thou  dost  exaggerate.  Hitherto  there  hath  been  naught 
of  hard  or  painful  in  it  but,  should  it  so  become,  even 
then  would  I  gladly  share  it  with  thee.  Perchance  thou 
art  right  in  saying  that  a  retired  life  would  best  beseem 
me,  but  thou  knowest  full  well  how  little  hath  this  desire 
of  mine  been  gratified.  When  I  had  reached  the  age  of 
twelve  my  mother  died,  and  my  father  followed  her 
within  three  years  to  the  grave,  I  was  left  alone  with  my 
brother,  who  did  all  thathuma/i  soul  could  do  to  console 
me  by  his  brotherly  devotion.  He  was  my  guardian, 
protector,  and  friend.  But  God  snatched  him  from  me, 
and  in  a  terrible  manner.  It  was  in  my  utter  desolation 
that  thou  didst  offer  me  thy  whole  devotion.  Was  not 
such-an  offer  beyond  my  dearest  hopes?  In  giving  thee 
my  hand  I  followed  the  spontaneous  impulse  of  my  heart, 
and  I  have  never  for  an  instant  repe/ited." 

"Thou  art  generous,  Inez,"  said  Jos6,  "yet  I  behold 
thee  now  hiding  like  a  criminal.  From  town  to  town 
hast  thou  fled,  proscribed,  thy  life  perchance  threatened, 
for  my  fault.  Heaven  grant  that  I  bring  not  new  and 
vnore  formidable  dangers  upon  thee.  I  tremble  lest  at 


7O  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

any  moment  they  track  us  hither.  If  we  are  discovered 
they  will  hold  thee  as  mine  accomplice,  and  thou  wilt 
suffer  for  my  offence." 

"  This  house  is  our  best  protection,  Jos6,"  said  Inez, 
"  and  the  messenger  whom  thoii  hast  despatched  is  a 
trusty  one  who  will  never  betray  us." 

"  But  will  the  succor  thou  expectest  be  given  us  ?" 

"  Yea,  Jos6,  for  I  have  appealed  to  a  sacred  promise." 

"  Men  forget  speedily,"  said  Jos6. 

"This  man  hath  a  noble  heart,  Jos6,"  said  Inez;  "he  is 
of  violent  disposition,  indeed;  but  above  all  baseness. 
His  sorrow  for  Sebastian's  death  was  too  deep  and  sin- 
cere for  him  now  to  disregard  my  appeal." 

"  God  grant  that  thou  art  right,  Inez,  for  without  his 
aid,  I  know  not  what  will  become  of  us." 

Just  then  a  sound  was  heard  without  in  the  street. 
Jos6  y  Flores,  taking  the  lamp,  prepared  to  open  the 
door,  but  his  young  wife  sprang  forward  to  prevent  him. 

"  Nay,"  said  Jos6,  "let  me  descend  first." 

"  Alonso  Cano  knows  thee  not,"  said  Inez;  "  the  house 
is  of  ill-repute.  Seeing  a  stranger  first  he  might  sus- 
pect some  snare." 

Inez  descended  the  spiral  staircase  with  a  light  quick 
step,  and  reached  the  foot  of  it  just  as  Alonso  Cano  stood 
upon  the  threshold.  She  raised  the  lamp  which  she  held 
in  her  hand,  so  that  the  artist  could  see  her  face  distinct- 
ly. Alonso  bowed  respectfully. 

"  Come,"  said  she,  "  and  thanks  for  thy  presence  here." 

"No  thanks  dost  thou  owe  me,  Inez  Valdez,"  said 
Alonso.  "  I  would  fain  acquit  myself  of  my  debt  to  thee, 
and  I  will  bless  God  if  He  permits  me  to  be  of  service  to 
thee." 

Inez  led  the  way  into  the  wretched  room  where  J'  ^ 
was  sitting,  saying, 

"This  is  my  husband,  Jose  y  Flores." 


THE   CONSPIRATORS.  71 

"Accept  my  hand,"  said  Alonso;  "  a  brother's  hand,  for 
I  have  sworn  to  be  a  brother  to  thy  wife." 

The  two  men  clasped  each  other's  hands,  and  Inez  giv- 
ing  Alonso  a  seat  began  thus: 

"Thou  saidst  a  moment  since  that  thou  wouldst  bless 
Heaven  for  an  occasion  to  do  me  service.  I  believe  thee, 
^nd  to  show  my  faith  have  brought  thee  hither.  We 
two  are  in  peril." 

"In  peril !"  repeated  Alonso. 

"  Before  I  proceed,"  said  Inez,  "  I  must  warn  thee  that 
wert  thou  discovered  here  in  this  house,  with  us,  thy 
good  name  would  be  much  endangered." 

"  Dofia  Inez,"  said  Alonso,  "  has  an  absolute  claim 
even  upon  my  life.  On  that  day  when  I  so  unhappily 
killed  her  brother  in  a  duel,  I  swore  to  hold  myself  at 
her  discretion.  Speak  not  then  of  dangers  to  be  met  in 
sharing  thy  evil  fortune,  and  tell  me  without  delay  all 
that  I  can  do  for  thee." 

"  One  more  word,"  said  Jose.  "  What  thou  art  about  to 
hear  may  wound  perchance  thy  deepest  feelings,  jar  upon 
thy  opinions  and  belief." 

"Yet  the  expiation  of  my  crime  is  above  and  beyond 
all  other  duties,"  said  Alonso  firmly. 

"  Thou  wilt  swear  secrecy  ?" 

"  As  though  my  own  life  depended  thereupon." 

"  Thou  art  brave,  as  we  know.  But  there  are  sacri- 
fices more  cruel  than  that  of  life  itself." 

"Thou  art  right,"  cried  Alonso;  "a  moment  since  be- 
fore coming  here  I  deeply  grieved  my  wife  in  refusing, 
Dofia  Inez,  to  show  her  thy  letter.  I  left  her  in  tears." 

"  Oh,"  cried  Inez,  "  I  will  write  her  the  whole  truth 
later  on  so  that  she  may  never  doubt  thee." 

Jos6  resumed. 

"  Therefore,  if  thine  honor,  honesty,  all  that  is  dearest 


^2  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

to  thee  on  earth  be  compromised  by  thine  interview  with 
us  to-night  thou  will  still  guard  our  secret  ?" 

"I  will." 

"The  lives  of  several  men  and  Inez' own  life  are  con- 
cerned therein." 

"  I  pledge  myself  upon  oath,  then,  that  come  what  may 
I  shall  be  silent  upon  whatsoever  I  may  learn  and  what- 
soever I  may  do  for  your  safety.  This  do  I  swear  by 
the  memory  of  Sebastian  Llano  y  Valdez,  whom  I  saw 
stretched  lifeless  at  my  feet." 

Inez  overcome  by  this  terrible  memory  hid  her  face  in 
her  hands,  and  Alonso  himself  turned  deadly  pale.  Jos6 
looked  the  artist  steadily  in  the  face. 

"  We  have  conspired,"  he  said. 

"  Thou  ?" 

"  Yea,  and  many  others  !" 

"  Against  his  most  Christian  majesty  ?" 

"  Philip  IV.  is  a  great  prince,  loyal  and  true,  a  friend 
of  art,  the  helper  of  the  needy,  just  and  of  fervent  piety." 

"  Yet  ye  hate  the  government  of  such  a  prince  ?" 

"There  is  only  one  thing  against  Philip  IV," 

"What  is  that?" 

"His  minister." 

"The  Count  d'Olivarez?" 

"  Precisely." 

"The  Count  d'Olivarez,  Marquis  de  San  Lucar,  is  my 
patron,"  said  Alonso  Cano  gravely. 

"We  do  not  ask  thee  to  become  his  enemy.  He  hath 
rendered  services  to  the  kingdom,  and  for  some  years  his 
influence  was  salutary  over  king  and  country.  Unhap- 
pily it  hath  so  come  about  that  Philip  sees  all  things 
through  the  eyes  of  his  favorite;  since  the  latter  has 
grown  harsh,  exacting,  tyrannical,  the  King  becomes  in- 
voluntarily the  accomplice  of  his  faults.  Olivarez  is  a 
man  of  great  cunning,  versed  in  all  the  intricacies  of 


THE  CONSPIRATORS.  73 

statecraft,  intimately  acquainted  with  public  affairs.  His 
crime  at  present  is  that  he  says,  '  /  and  the  King.'  I 
know  him  well.  My  father's  experience  hath  more  fully 
enlightened  me  upon  his  character  than  my  own  entire 
life.  Whilst  the  father  of  the  minister  occupied  the  im- 
portant position  of  ambassador  to  the  Holy  See  my 
father  was  resting  after  the  fatigues  of  many  wars,  and 
\vatching  with  an  interested  eye  the  events  which  so 
swiftly  succeeded  each  other  in  Europe." 

"  The  King's  favorite  was  born  in  Rome,  and  there  my 
father  watched  him  grow  up.  Then  he  had  defects 
which  power  has  changed  into  vices." 

"Enough,  enough,  and  it  please  thee,"  said  Alonso 
Cano.  "  What  thou  tellest  me  now  I  would  fain  forget 
to-morrow.  Thou  dost  place  me  in  a  terrible  position. 
I  am  deeply  grateful  to  the  Count.  The  crime  of  which 
I  was  guilty,  in  taking  Sebastian's  life,  had  placed  me 
under  the  ban  of  the  law,  and  would  have  brought  about 
my  ruin  but  for  the  man  whom  thou  dost  accuse  of 
cruelty  and  despotism.  He  came  to  my  aid;  to  him  I 
owe  my  liberty.  He  hath  been  the  architect  of  my  for 
tunes,  and  even  the  visit  of  his  Catholic  majesty  to  my 
studio  to-day  is  owing  to  the  Count  d'Olivarez.  I  can- 
not, therefore,  listen  to  the  accusations  which  thou  dost 
bring  against  him." 

"  Let  it  suffice  that  thou  dost  not  share  our  opinions," 
said  Jose,  "and  permit  me  to  continue  and  explain,  that 
if  I  am  Olivarez'  enemy  it  is  less  through  a  spirit  of  in- 
trigue or  personal  hatred  than  for  the  welfare  of  the  King 
and  the  glory  of  Spain." 

"A  country's  glory,"  said  Cano.  "never  proceedeth 
from  party  strife." 

Jose  resumed: 

"As  a  man,  Gaspardo  de  Guzman,  Count  d'Olivarez, 
has  some  fine  qualities,  of  which  thou  thyself  hast  given 


74  THE   MONK  S   PARDON. 

a  proof  since  thou  declares!  thyself  his  friend;  for  one 
can  feel  friendship  only  for  a  man  who  is  of  some  worth 
either  in  mind  or  heart.  Yet  thy  gratitude  should  not 
carry  thee  so  far  as  utter  blindness.  Olivarez  is  in  a  fair 
way  to  ruin  the  monarchy.  If  we  leave  him  in  power, 
soon  shall  Spain  pronounce  the  downfall  of  a  monarch 
too  feeble  to  resist  the  will  of  his  minister." 

"  These  accusations  are  most  vague." 

"  Shall  I  enter  more  into  details  ?" 

"  Hope  not  to  convince  me." 

"It  will  suffice  that  I  justify  myself  in  thine  eyes." 

"  I  will  hear  thee,"  said  Alonso  with  more  resignation 
than  curiosity  in  his  manner. 

Inez,  resting  her  arms  upon  the  wooden  table,  kept  her 
eyes  fixed  upon  Jos6  with  a  curiously  sustained  atten- 
tion. One  could  see  from  her  attitude  and  the  expres- 
sion of  her  face  that  her  husband's  soul  had  passed  into 
her  own. 

Alonso  was  deeply  distressed.  When  answering  to  the 
appeal  of  Sebastian's  sister  he  thought  simply  of  acquit- 
ting, at  the  cost  of  some  service  rendered,  the  debt  so 
long  since  contracted.  But  now  he  was  not  only  called 
upon  to  risk  his  life  and  empty  his  coffers,  but  to  be- 
come, in  his  own  despite,  an  accomplice  in  a  conspiracy 
against  the  repose,  the  power,  the  very  life  of  a  man  to 
whom  he  owed  everything.  On  one  side  was  his  oath  to 
Sebastian  dying,  by  which  he  pledged  himself  to  protect 
his  sister,  on  the  other  was  the  prospect  of  injuring  a 
minister  to  whom  he  owed  his  reputation,  his  fortune, 
and  the  favor  of  the  King.  A  sinister  presentiment 
seized  upon  Alonso.  The  darkness  of  the  night,  the 
gloom  of  the  house,  the  remembrance  of  Mercedes"  tears, 
all  combined  to  fill  him  with  strange  forebodings.  With 
an  effort  he  tried  to  follow  Jos6  in  what  he  was  saying. 

Jos6  began  slowly: 


THE   CONSPIRATORS.  75 

"The  Olivarez  family  was  poor.  Now  there  are  two 
means  of  success  in  the  world:  one  man  begins  by  being 
rich,  and  through  his  fortune  wins  his  way  to  honors; 
another  commences  by  ambition,  and  proceedz  thence  to 
wealth.  This  was  the  path  marked  out  by  Olivarez:;  but 
once  he  became  prime  minister  and  Marquis  de  San 
Lucar,  and  in  full  possession  of  the  confidence  of  his 
sovereign,  he  began  to  reflect  that  if  through  some  evil 
chance  the  most  Catholic  Monarch  of  all  Spain  chanced 
to  die,  his  son  might  not  confirm  the  minister  in  his  pres- 
ent degree  of  power.  A  fallen  minister  who  has  not  at 
least  the  prestige  of  wealth  in  place  of  his  vanished 
power  is  sure  to  pass  into  oblivion  and  to  meet  per- 
chance with  contempt.  Olivarez  was  determined  to  be 
rich.  Therefore,  without  consulting  the  King,  or  at  least 
without  fully  explaining  to  him  his  motives  in  so  doing, 
he  doubled  the  public  taxes  in  Spain.  At  first  nothing 
was  said.  Respect  for  the  King  was  deep  and  wide- 
spread, but  at  length  the  most  humble  complaints  were 
sent  up  to  the  throne,  or  at  least  efforts  were  made  to 
send  them  there.  The  count  intercepted  all  such  peti- 
tions. The  King  knows  or  hears  nothing  of  all  this,  and 
the  revolution  will  break  out  before  there  is  even  a  sus- 
picion of  danger." 

"The  revolution,  didst  thou  say?" 

"Yes.  Beginning  in  Andalusia  it  will  soon  spread 
over  Catalonia,  and  God  knows  where  it  will  end.  But 
this  is  not  all.  I  could  almost  forgive  Olivarez  his  tyr- 
anny did  he  not  also  aim  a  blow  at  the  King  his  master." 

"Olivarez  betray  the  King?" 

"  He  hath  betrayed  him.  At  this  very  moment  Portu- 
gal is  ready  to  rise  against  Spain." 

"And  this  rebellion?" 

"Is  the  work  of  the  prime  minister  himself.  Its  ob- 
ject is  to  place  the  crown  of  Lusitania  upon  the  Duke  de 


76  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

Braganza's  head.  Philip  IV.,  unable  to  prevent  sach  a 
step,  can  only,  in  return,  seize  upon  the  duke's  Spanish 
possessions." 

"  But  what  can  Olivarez  hope  to  gain  by  thus  impov- 
erishing the  kingdom  ?" 

"A  personal  fortune." 

"  How  ?" 

"  The  possessions  of  the  Duke  de  Braganza  are  enor- 
mous. In  recompense  for  his  numerous  services  Oli- 
varez will  ask  them  of  the  King,  who  can  never  refuse 
anything  to  his  favorite.  Hence  Olivarez  will  be  the 
richest  lord  in  Spain." 

"Thou  believest  then — " 

"That  the  count  will  be  instrumental  in  losing  Portu- 
gal to  the  King,  that  he  himself  may  gain  the  castles  and 
lands  of  Braganza.  The  bargain  is  concluded,  and  Judas 
awaits  his  thirty  pieces  of  silver." 

"It  is  monstrous,"  cried  Alonso. 

"All  that  is  cowardly  and  ungrateful  is  monstrous," 
said  Jos6. 

"But  to  accuse  a  man  of  such  infamy  doth  not  suffice 
The  infamy  must  be  proven." 

"Just  now  it  would  be  impossible  for  me  to  give  thee 
absolute  proofs.  The  future  will  prove  it  far  better  than 
I.  I  am  at  the  head  of  a  plot  to  nullify  the  prime  min- 
ister's treason  in  favor  of  the  King.  But  hitherto  for- 
tune hath  shown  herself  hostile  to  us.  A  traitor  hath 
sold  us.  We  know  him  not,  but  Olivarez'  police  are  in 
pursuit  of  us  now,  and  we  were  obliged  to  separate  lest 
the  secret  of  our  meetings  be  revealed.  I  came  hither 
with  Inez  to  watch  the  last  operations  of  my  friends,  and 
was  warned  this  very  evening  that  I  was  sought  for  in 
the  town.  We  must  depart  without  delay,  God  knows 
whither.  I  have  exhausted  my  resources,  most  willingly 
it  is  true,  to  succor  some  more  needy  than  myself,  but 


THE   CONSPIRATORS.  77 

now  we  need  horses  and  money.  In  our  distress  Inez 
bethought  herself  of  thee." 

'•A  thousand  thanks,  Dofia  Inez,"  said  Alonso.  "I 
begin  to  comprehend  my  task.  As  a  conspirator,  Jose, 
I  promise  thee  secrecy  upon  my  honor,  and  as  a  friend, 
a  brother,  the  husband  of  Inez  Llano  y  Valdez,  I  implore 
thee  to  accept  my  good  offices." 

The  artist  then  drew  forth  the  heavy  purse  with  which 
he  had  provided  himself  before  leaving  home  and  went  on: 

"The  wisest  thing  ye  can  do  is  to  quit  the  city  without 
delay.  I  will  accompany  you.  Dona  Inez  will  lean  upon 
my  arm  ;  a  mantilla  concealing  her  face,  she  will  be 
mistaken  for  Mercedes  my  wife.  Thou,  Jose,  wilt  follow 
us,  closely  wrapped  in  thy  cloak.  Should  any  curious 
nlguazil*  interrogate  us  let  me  answer  and  say  all." 

"Oh,  thanks,  thanks!"  cried  Inez.  "Thou  wilt  save  us 
both." 

"Whatsoever  I  do,  my  debt  must  still  remain  unpaid," 
said  Alonso. 

The  young  woman  then  wrapped  herself  in  a  mantilla, 
which  completely  obscured  her  face,  and  Jose  enveloped 
himself  in  a  dark  cloak. 

Soon  after  the  deserted  house  had  become  more  deso- 
late than  ever,  and  three  people,  conversing  in  a  low 
voice,  were  gliding  through  the  streets  of  Madrid.  Evei' 
and  anon  the  snatch  of  a  serenade  reached  their  ears, 
or  the  heavy  tread  of  the  alguazils  going  their  rounds 
filled  them  with  sudden  affright. 

"Jose,"  said  Alonso,  "I  will  accompany  you  without 
the  walls,  and  in  truth  I  shall  not  feel  at  ease  till  I  have 
procured  you  the  means  wherewith  to  fly  hence  with  all 
speed.  Hearken  to  me,  Jose,  I  pray  thee,  and  renounce 
a  work  which,  despite  all  the  accusations  thou  bringest 

*A  species  of  military  police  like  the  gens  d'armes  of  France. 


78  THE  MONK'S   PARDON. 

against  the  Count  d'Olivarez,  can  only  result  to  thine 
own  prejudice.  When  thou  art  in  safety  apprise  me  of 
thy  place  of  refuge,  that  I  may  write  to  thee  and  keep 
myself  in  thy  memory." 

As  they  passed  a  species  of  hostelry  they  heard  the 
pawing  of  horses  in  the  court. 

"  God  comes  to  our  aid  perchance,"  said  Alonso. 

He  knocked  at  the  inn-door.  A  boy,  half  asleep, 
opened  it. 

"  What  would  your  lordships  ?"  said  he. 

"  Two  horses,"  said  Alonso. 

"  For  a  long  journey  ?" 

"  So  long  that  thy  beasts  will  not  return." 

"  Then,  thou  wouldst  not  hire  them  ?" 

"Nay,  I  would  purchase  them." 

"They are  swift  coursers,"  said  the  boy;  "my  master 
will  sell  them  dearly." 

"  And  thou  wouldst  some  maravedis  for  having  aided 
in  the  traffic.  Take  this  ducat  and  make  haste." 

"  Generous  as  a  king,"  cried  the  boy,  "  they  will  be 
dear,  my  lord,  especially  at  this  hour.  ,  But,  for  thy  gen- 
erosity, I  will  hasten  to  discover." 

The  lackey  mounted  hastily  to  his  master's  room. 
"  Here  is  a  brave  affair,  "  said  he,  "  if  thou  wouldst  sell 
two  horses.  Two  cavaliers,  and  a  lady;  there  is  a  mys- 
tery afoot.  To  buy  horses  at  four  in  the  morning  with- 
out proclaiming  whither  they  go." 

"  They  will  pay  me  double,"  cried  the  innkeeper, 
dressing  hastily.  "  A  hundred  ducats,  not  one  less." 

"And  my  share,  master?" 

"  A  new  coat  for  the  feast  of  Corpus  Christi" 

The  innkeeper  descended  hastily  to  the  court,  but  in 
spite  of  all  his  efforts  could  not  recognize  the  purchasers 
of  his  horses,  so  completely  were  their  faces  enshrouded 
by  the  folds  of  their  cloaks. 


THE  CONSPIRATORS.  79 

The  bargain  was  soon  completed,  and  Jos6  mounted 
one  horse,  taking  Inez  on  the  crupper,  while  Alonso 
rode  the  other.  When  the  first  streaks  of  dawn  ap- 
peared in  the  east  the  three  travellers  were  outside  the 
walls.  Alonso  then  alighted,  and  Inez  having  done  like- 
wise, he  assisted  her  to  remount  the  most  gentle  of  the 
two  steeds.  This  done  the  artist  uncovered  hi:  head. 

"God  guard  you,"  he  cried.     "Vaga  con  Dies."  * 

"We  shall  never  forget  thee,"  cried  the  young  couple, 
simultaneously. 

The  fugitives  set  spurs  to  their  horses,  and  Alonso, 
thus  left  alone,  followed  them  with  his  eyes  till  they  had 
passed  out  of  sight.  Then,  worn  out  by  his  long  vigil, 
and  by  the  varied  emotions  through  which  he  had 
passed,  he  sat  down  upon  the  stone  steps  of  a  colossal 
calvary,  and  fell  into  a  profound  reverie.  The  rays  of 
the  early  sun  made  him  shiver,  he  sprung  up  and  began 
to  walk  slowly  towards  the  city.  The  duty  which  had 
just  devolved  upon  him  had  been  indeed  an  imperious 
one;  but  Alonso  felt  sad  misgivings  as  to  how  he  should 
calm  Mercedes*  wrath  and  dispel  her  jealousy  of  the  pre- 
vious evening.  What  reason  could  he  assign  that  would 
put  her  suspicions  at  rest  ?  How  excuse  himself  ?  Could 
he  once  more  employ  the  vulgar  but  often  happy  expe- 
dient of  overcoming  her  resentment  by  gratifying  some 
costly  whim?  No,  for  he  had  given  to  Jose  all  the  sav- 
ings originally  intended  to  purchase  for  Mercedes  the 
robe  and  jewels  she  craved.  She  would  accuse  him  of 
treachery,  indifference  and  avarice  all  at  once;  and  he 
knew  that  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  tell  her  what  he 
had  done,  or  explain  that  it  was  absolutely  necessary  he 
should  dispose  of  the  four  hundred  ducats  upon  which 
she  had  counted  for  her  costume  at  the  ball. 

*  A  Spanish  saying,  literally  "  Go  with  God." 


80  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

On  the  other  hand,  Alonso  felt  relieved  that  he  had  in 
some  measure  paid  to  Inez  the  terrible  debt  contracted 
through  Sebastian.  Meanwhile,  he  slowly  pursued  his 
way,  pausing  to  contemplate  every  familiar  detail  of  the 
common  peasant  life,  as  though  he  saw  them  for  the 
first  time.  Thus  do  cowards  hesitate  when  they  are 
about  to  enter  upon  a  perilous  way. 

Venders  of  fruits  and  herbs  began  to  open  their  shops, 
and  fresh  rosy  faces  to  appear  through  the  tniradores* 
There  was  a  stir  of  life  in  the  streets.  Monks  in  their 
long  and  sombre  garb,  women  on  their  way  to  church, 
water-carriers  with  their  pails,  and  flower-sellers  with 
baskets  garlanded  with  pomegranate  leaves,  offered  their 
bouquets  to  the  passers-by.  Whilst  the  artist  seemed  to 
be  completely  absorbed  in  the  living  panorama  passing 
before  his  eyes,  he  never  lost  sight  for  a  moment  of  the 
face  of  his  young  wife  whom  he  had  left  in  tears. 

At  last  he  was  in  his  own  neighborhood.  He  drew 
near  his  own  street.  He  heard  as  he  approached  a  dull 
murmur  which  increased  till  it  assumed  the  proportions 
of  a  tumult  of  voices.  Some  extraordinary  event  seemed 
to  have  transpired.  Alonso  quickened  his  steps.  He  was 
astonished  to  behold  an  excited  throng  gathered  before 
his  door.  Every  one  was  talking  loud,  and  he  could  dis- 
tinguish cries  of  horror  and  compassion.  When  they  rec- 
ognized Alonso  Cano  the  groups  of  curious  people  sepa- 
rated, making  way  for  the  friend  of  the  Count  d'Olivarez. 

But  it  was  not  only  in  token  of  respect  that  the  peo- 
ple thus  drew  aside,  and  the  artist  felt  his  heart  sicken 
as  at  the  approach  of  some  terrible  calamity.  He  ad- 
vanced, pale  and  haggard,  and  with  parched  and  trem- 
bling lips.  He  caught  as  he  went  these  few  words: 

"It  is  an  awful,  an  inconceivable  occurrence." 

*  A  screen  used  in  connection  with  the  balconies  which  are  insepa- 
rable from  all  Spanish  houses. 


THE  CRIME.  8 1 


CHAPTER   VI. 

THE  CRIME. 

WHEN  Alonso  appeared  upon  the  threshold,  Miguel 
detached  himself  from  the  group  of  pupils  collected 
around  the  studio  door  and  ran  to  meet  his  master. 

"  Courage!"  said  he,  "courage!" 

The  artist's  face  blanched. 

"  It  is  true  then  that  some,  terrible  misfortune  has 
happened  here." 

"  A  most  terrible  misfortune,"  said  Bartholomeo 
Roman. 

Alonso  Cano  passed  his  hand  across  his  forehead,  upon 
which  stood  great  drops  of  sweat,  and  cried  out  in  a  tone 
of  agony: 

"  Mercedes!" 

He  would  have  rushed  up  the  stairs  when  Miguel 
seized  him  by  the  arm. 

"Go  not  up,"  cried  he,  "for  the  love  of  God  go  not 
up,  it  is  too  horrible." 

"  Horrible!  "  repeated  Alonso,  half  dazed,  "  Mercedes  !" 

He  stood  still  supporting  himself  against  the  balustrade, 
for  his  brain  seemed  paralyzed,  and  his  thoughts  wander- 
ing. A  terrible  misfortune  mingled  in  his  mind  with  the 
name  of  his  wife. 

"Come  into  the  studio,"  said  Miguel,  gently  insisting; 
"later  on,  in  a  moment,  when  thou  art  stronger." 

Bartholomeo  joined  his  entreaties  to  those  of  Miguel, 
but  Alonso,  pushing  them  both  aside  with  tremendoujs 
violence,  rushed  up  the  stairs  and  into  Mercedes'  room 
with  the  fury  of  a  madman. 


82  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

A  horrible  spectacle  met  him. 

Upon  the  crumpled  and  disordered  bed  covered  with 
blood  lay  the  body  of  his  young  wife.  Gaping  wounds 
in  the  chest  met  his  view;  it  was  clear  that  the  murderer 
had  accomplished  his  horrible  task  with  even  unneces- 
sary cruelty.  Mercedes'  countenance,  which  had  grown 
fixed  in  death  amid  the  convulsions  of  fearful  agony,  wore 
a  look  of  awful  horror.  One  arm  was  extended  as  if  tc 
push  away  the  murderer,  the  other  was  upon  her  breast, 
as  though  she  would  fain  staunch  the  blood  flowing  thence. 
Various  indications  went  to  prove  that  there  had  been  a 
struggle.  Around  the  room  upon  chairs  and  sofas  lay 
robes  of  velvet  and  brocade;  upon  a  table  were  open 
jewel-cases;  some  furs  and  a  few  pieces  of  gold  had  fallen 
upon  the  ground,  and  the  red  carpet  was  dyed  a  deeper 
red  by  the  blood  of  Mercedes.  A  small  safe  lay  open 
close  to  an  Italian  cabinet,  the  drawers  of  which  had  evi- 
dently been  forced.  The  windows  of  the  room,  with 
their  panes  of  tinted  glass,  threw  a  soft  light  upon  this 
horrible  picture.  Never  did  sunlight  shed  its  golden 
rays  upon  a  sight  more  pitiable.  Alonso  Cano  stood 
upon  the  threshold,  and  in  an  instant  saw  it  all.  He 
leaned  against  the  door-post  for  a  moment  motionless 
in  his  anguish.  At  length  he  crept  over  towards  the  bed, 
tottering,  shivering,  grasping  at  the  furniture  which 
came  in  his  way,  and  there  fell  upon  his  knees.  He 
neither  wept  nor  moaned,  but  he  gazed  upon  his  wife. 
The  agony  of  his  heart  did  not  find  relief  in  a  single  ut- 
terance. It  seemed  to  him  he  was  going  mad. 

All  at  once  the  sound  of  sobbing  aroused  him.  Juana 
crouching  in  a  corner,  with  her  face  hidden  in  her  black 
apron,  was  weeping  with  a  bitterness  impossible  to  de- 
scribe. Near  by  was  Jacintha,  with  a  rosary  in  her  hand 
saying  her  beads. 

"Mercedes!  my  Mercedes!"  cried  Alonso  all  at  once 


THE   CRIME.  83 

in  a  voice  of  terrible  anguish,  "  is  it  thus  I  see  thee  again  ? 
Thou  beautiful  and  blithesome  child,  whom  I  left  so  full 
of  life,  and  return  to  find  thee  stiff,  motionless,  and 
bloody.  To  behold  thee  dead,  and  know  naught  of  the 
secret  of  ihy  death.  Oh  God,  my  God,  I  made  her  suffer, 
and  left  her  in  tears,  and  I  shall  never  see  her  again.  And 
thou,  \v!i. >  \\crt  so  eager  about  the  King's  ball,  wilt  never, 
never  open  thy  lovely  eyes  again.  Oh,  I  am  fatal  to  all 
whom  I  approach.  I  am  accursed.  There  is  blood  upon 
my  hands." 

He  started  back  with  a  sort  of  frenzy. 

"  Blood!"  cried  he,  "blood  everywhere,  always!  Sebas- 
tian's blood,  the  blood  of — " 

The  words  were  lost  in  a  deep  groan,  then  he  rose  sud- 
denly, crying: 

"  Thou  shall  be  avenged,  avenged,  avenged!" 

"  Yea,  the  victim  shall  be  avenged,"  said  a  grave  voice, 
as  a  man  of  austere  visage  entered  the  room.  It  was 
justice  that,  in  his  person,  appeared  upon  the  theatre  of 
the  crime. 

Gaspardo  del  Roca  was  followed  by  four  other  men, 
as  grave  and  silent  as  he.  One  of  them  carried  a  writing 
desk  and  a  roll  of  parchment.  The  nearest  police  magis- 
trate had  just  been  apprised  of  the  murder,  and  came 
thither  to  accomplish  his  mission. 

He  had  often  met  Alonso  Cano  in  the  salons  of  the 
Count  d'Olivarez,  and  had  felt  as  strong  an  attraction 
for  his  personal  character  as  admiration  for  his  genius. 
He  therefore  came  to  the  dwelling  of  the  prime  minis- 
ter's favorite,  with  a  feeling  of  profound  compassion  for 
the  awful  blow  which  had  fallen  upon  him.  He  resolved 
to  perform  his  task  with  all  possible  diligence,  and  to 
show  by  every  means  his  sincere  sympathy  for  the 
Michael  Angelo  of  Spain.  He  held  out  his  hand  to  the 
artist,  saying: 


64  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

"Courage!  thou  hast  need  of  all  fortitude  and  presence 
of  mind  to  aid  us  in  what  we  seek." 

These  words  had  an  indescribable  effect  upon  Alonso. 
He  drew  himself  up,  his  eyes  lost  their  wandering  ex- 
pression, and  he  answered: 

"  Thou  art  right;  since  I  cannot  bring  her  back,  even 
at  the  price  of  my  own  life,  I  must,  at  least,  aid  thee  in 
thy  work  of  justice." 

Whilst  the  judge  and  the  artist  thus  exchanged  a  few 
friendly  words,  one  of  the  men  accompanying  the  chief 
magistrate  went  round  the  room,  examining  its  details 
with  an  inquisitorial  eye.  He  observed  the  position  of 
the  furniture,  the  disorder  which  reigned  in  the  room, 
and  seemed  as  if  beginning  on  his  own  responsibility  the 
inquest  about  to  take  place. 

"Hast  thou  enemies?"  asked  Gaspardo  del  Roea  of 
the  artist. 

"I  know  of  none." 

"To  judge  from  the  breaking  open  of  the  safe  and 
these  empty  jewel-cases  theft  must  have  been  the  motive 
for  the  crime." 

"It  must  have  been  that,"  cried  Alonso.  "Mercedes 
was  a  perfect  child,  kind  and  gentle  to  every  one;  none 
could  have  hated  her." 

Just  then  Juan  Resales,  who  was  Gaspardo's  principal 
assistant,  leaned  over  and  said  a  few  words  to  his  chief 
in  a  lr>w  voice.  The  latter  nodded  in  token  of  assent, 
and  taking  Alonso  by  the  hand,  said: 

"Leave  this  room,  my  friend;  contemplate  no  longer, 
I  implore  thee,  this  mournful  spectacle.  When  we  have 
need  of  thee  for  necessary  information  we  shall  send  for 
thee." 

Alonso  would  fain  have  stayed,  but  Gaspardo  was  in- 
flexible. Bartholomeo  and  Miguel  brought  their  master 
into  the  studio,  where  the  portrait  of  Philip  IV.  seemed 


THE   CRIME.  8$ 

to  sta/e  them  blankly  in  the  face,  reminding  the  artist  of 
a  so  different  scene  which  had  lately  passed  there.  Whilst 
Alonso,  completely  absorbed  in  the  one  terrible  thought, 
remained  fixed  and  motionless  amidst  a  group  of  his 
silent  but  sympathizing  pupils,  the  officers  of  justice  pur- 
sued their  work. 

"A  theft  has  been  committed,"  said  Gaspardo,  re- 
garding the  empty  jewel-cases  and  the  safe. 

"  But  your  excellency  may  remark,"  said  Juan  Resale's, 
"  that  there  is  no  appearance  of  any  one  having  effected 
an  entrance  to  the  house." 

"True,"  said  Gaspardo;  "which  proves  that  the  guilty 
person  must  be  well  acquainted  with  the  premises." 

"Are  not  these  two  women  in  our  way?"  asked  Resales. 

And  the  magistrate  gave  orders  that  Jacintha  and 
fuana  should  be  taken  from  the  room. 

"Cano  seemeth  certain  of  his  own  household,"  said 
Gaspardo;  "we  must  seek  for  the  guilty  elsewhere." 

"Fifteen  wounds,"  pronounced  the  doctor,  "of  which 
three  are  mortal.  He  who  dealt  them  must  have  been 
not  only  a  strong  man,  but  accustomed,  I  dare  swear,  to 
the  use  of  the  poniard." 

Resales  bent  down  and  drew  up  his  arm  cohered  with 
blood. 

"This  was  the  weapon  used,"  he  said. 

The  doctor  took  the  poniard  from  him  and  compared  it 
With  the  wounds. 

"Thou  art  right,"  he  said,  "that  was  the  weapon." 

"To  whom  doth  this  poniard  belong?"  asked  Gas- 
pardo. 

"There  is  an  initial  upon  the  handle,"  s«ud  the  doctor, 
"  but  it  is  so  coated  over  with  blood  that  I  cannot  de- 
cipher it." 

"  Leave  the  blood  where  it  is,"  said  Gaspardo  quickly, 
"and  let  us  go  on." 


86  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

The  doctor  now  made  an  effort  to  bend  back  thw  stif- 
fened arm  of  the  dead,  and  as  he  did  so  uttered  an  ex- 
clamation. 

"What  now?"  cried  Gaspardo,  who  was  the  presiding 
magistrate. 

"This,"  said  the  physician,  "a  clue!" 

And  raising  Mercedes'  arm  the  doctor  slid  wed  a  tuft 
of  red  hair  in  her  stiffened  fingers. 

"Evidently,"  said  the  physician,  "she  seized  the  assas- 
sin by  the  hair  in  the  final  struggle." 

"This,"  said  the  judge,  "is  indeed  a  clue,  and  it  seem- 
eth  to  us  of  grave  import.  We  are  now  upon  the  track. 
Little  as  this  is,  it  is  something.  Before  examining  Cano, 
who  is  still  totally  overcome,  we  can  proceed  \vith  the 
matter  by  questioning  his  pupils.  Some  of  them  may, 
perchance,  furnish  us  with  important  details.  An  en- 
trance effected  without  force;  this  tuft  of  peculiar-col- 
ored hair.  Resales,  have  Cano's  pupils  brought  one  by 
one  into  the  adjoining  room." 

Miguel  was  the  first  called  into  the  little  room  where 
the  Sefior  Gaspardo  del  Roea  sat  surrounded  by  the 
doctor  and  his  assistants. 

"Thy  name  ?"  asked  the  judge. 

"  Miguel." 

"  How  long  hast  thou  been  the  pupil  of  Alonso  Cano  ?" 

"About  three  years." 

"  Canst  thou  give  us  any  information  which  may  throw 
light  upon  this  crime?" 

"None,"  said  Miguel;  "I  came  here  this  morning  by 
mere  chance.  I  am  no  longer  a  pupil  of  Alonso  Cano." 

"Thou  hast  left  Cano's  studio?" 

"Yea,  but  at  the  master's  desire." 

"Hast  thou  then  offended  him?" 

"Grieved  him  rather.  I  can  fearlessly  speak  of  my 
fault  to  your  excellencies,  for  if  it  be  grave,  it  is  not  dis- 


THE  CRIME.  87 

gleeful.  Two  days  ago  I  quarrelled  with  an  Italian 
copyist." 

"  Did  he  inhabit  the  house?" 

"Yes,  your  excellency." 

"  What  was  the  cause  of  this  quarrel  ?" 

"A  question  of  art.  I  acknowledge  that  Lello  Lelli's 
opinions  if  held  by  any  other  would  rather  have  led  me 
to  oppose  them  by  arguments  than  by  the  sword.  But, 
quite  instinctively,  we  hated  Lelli  in  the  studio.  The 
master's  kindness  to  him  never  helped  us  to  overcome 
our  repugnance  towards  him;  his  captious,  critical,  ma- 
levolent spirit  irritated  us  anew  every  day.  He  was 
known  among  us  as  le  pobre,  or  the  beggar.  He  had 
little  talent,  but  much  mechanical  skill,  and  the  master 
tolerated  him  for  many  reasons.  Some  malicious  words 
of  his  envenomed  my  old  antipathy  to  him,  and  in  a 
moment  of  anger  I  accused  him  of  being  a  hanger-on  of 
Lo  Spagnoletto  at  Naples,  and  of  using  the  stiletto  in  his 
service  much  more  than  the  brush." 

"What  led  thee  to  form  such  opinion  of  him  ?" 

"  It  seemed  merely  an  intuition,  founded  upon  the  de- 
tails of  our  daily  life,  and  one  which  it  would  have  been 
impossible  to  prove." 

"  Thou  didst,  then,  provoke  this  Lelli  ?" 

"Yea,  Sefior;  but  just  as  we  crossed  swords  the  master 
entered.  I  shall  never  forget  his  look  and  the  sound  of 
his  voice.  He  condemned  duels  and  duelists  in  scathing 
terms,  and  dismissed  us  both,  Lelli  and  me,  from  his  stu- 
dio." 

"Thou  hast  not  since  renewed  the  quarrel  ?" 

"  No,  your  excellency.  Lelli  quitted  the  studio  imme- 
diately, and  the  house  two  hours  after." 

"  Ah,"  said  the  magistrate,  "  then  thou  knowest  no 
more  of  him  ?" 

"No  more." 


88  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

"Canst  describe  Lelli  to  us  ?" 

"  Readily,  my  lord.  His  face  is  pale,  with  a  look  of 
suppressed  passion  in  it.  Hatred  and  envy  seem  to  have 
marked  his  thin  lips  with  their  fatal  seal.  His  forehead 
is  low,  furtive,  and  cunning,  his  nostrils  thin  and  dilating 
when  he  is  roused  to  anger.  His  red  hair  bristles  upon 
a  head  where  I  would  wager  there  are  more  evil  designs 
than  good  thoughts." 

The  magistrate  took  the  tuft  of  hair  which  the  doctor 
had  extricated  from  the  stiffened  fingers  of  the  corpse. 

"  Was  LelH's  hair  of  some  such  color  as  this  ?"  he 
asked. 

"It  was  precisely  of  that  color,"  cried  Miguel. 

"  Lelli  inhabited  this  house,  thou  sayest,  for  some 
time,"  said  the  magistrate,  "  and  would  doubtless  have 
been  well  advised  as  to  the  Sefiora  Mercedes'  habits  ?" 

"  Most  certainly." 

The  judge  then  held  up  the  poniard  with  which  the 
crime  had  been  committed,  and  said: 

"  Knowest  thou  that  weapon  ?" 

Miguel  regarded  it  attentively. 

"I  know  it,"  he  said.     "  It  belongs  to  the  master." 

"  Thou  art  sure  ?" 

"  Very  sure;  and  despite  the  blood  upon  the  handle  1 
can  perceive  an  A  and  a  C  engraved  upon  a  silver 
plate." 

"  Was  this  poniard  part  of  a  panoply  ?" 

"  Nay;  it  most  frequently  lay  upon  a  table  in  the  stu* 
dio." 

"Thou  mayest  retire,"  said  the  judge.  "If  thou  art 
needed  further  I  will  recall  thee;  meantin;°  remain  in  the 
house." 

Alonso's  pupils,  summoned  one  by  one,  gave  a  precise- 
ly similar  account  of  the  quarrel,  and  threw  all  the  blame 
upon  Lelli. 


THE   CRIME.  89 

"  Knowest  thou  what  hath  become  of  him  ?"  asked  the 
judge  of  Pedro  Castello. 

"  That  very  evening  he  quitted  Madrid,"  said  Pedro, 
"  mounted  upon  a  sorry  steed.  I  met  him  whilst  in  com- 
pany with  some  friends." 

"  At  what  time  ?" 

"  About  eight  in  the  evening." 

"The  crime  was  committed  that  same  night,"  said  the 
judge. 

"  And  it  is  easy  to  guess  at  what  hour,"  said  Resale's, 
placing  Mercedes"  watch  upon  the  table  before  the 
judge. 

The  glass  of  it  was  broken  and  the  hands  had  stopped 
at  half-past  two  in  the  morning.  It  had  been  found 
close  to  the  bed,  near  a  small  table  which  had  been  over- 
turned. 

"Thou  art  right,  RosaleV' 

Gaspardo  del  Roca  was  silent  a  moment;  then  he  said: 

"This  tuft  of  hair  is  almost  a  proof." 

"  Yet  the  hour  at  which  Sefior  Castello  met  the  Italian 
offers  an  alibi,"  said  Rosal6s. 

Juana  was  next  introduced. 

She  was  almost  unrecognizable;  her  eyes,  red  and 
swollen,  testified  to  the  tears  she  had  shed;  her  cheeks 
still  bore  their  traces;  her  pale  lips  worked  in  a  nervous 
mechanical  fashion,  whilst  her  fingers  opened  and  closed 
and  her  whole  body  trembled. 

"Thou  wert,"  said  Gaspardo  kindly,  "  Dofia  Mercedes' 
nurse,  and  thy  present  sorrow  proves  how  sincerely  thou 
wert  attached  to  thy  young  mistress." 

"  To  my  child;  say  rather,  my  child,"  cried  Juana,  with 
a  fresh  burst  of  sobs. 

"  Despite  thy  very  natural  grief  canst  thou  answer  my 
questions,  and  keep  thy  mind  upon  the  point  at  issue?" 
asked  the  judge. 


go  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

'  Your  excellency  may  interrogate  me,"  answered  Ju- 
ana,  "  and  I  will  strive  to  collect  my  thoughts  and  keep 
up  my  courage  to  reply  to  thee." 

Gaspardo  then  made  a  sign  to  the  others  to  take  down 
her  evidence,  and  thus  began  the  examination: 

"At  what  hour  didst  thou  leave  the  Sefiora  Mer- 
cedes ?" 

"At  midnight,"  answered  Juana. 

"  Was  thy  mistress  wont  to  remain  up  so  late  ?" 

A  troubled  look  passed  over  Juana's  face  and  she 
seemed  to  hesitate. 

"Remember,"  said  the  judge,  "that  thou  art  address- 
ing the  representative  of  justice,  and  that  every  word  has 
the  value  of  an  oath." 

Juana  crossed  herself. 

"  I  ask  pardon  of  your  excellency,"  she  said,  "  but 
there  are  things  which  do  not  appear  to  have  any  bear- 
ing upon  this  matter." 

"  Let  the  law  decide,"  said  the  judge. 

Juana  sighed. 

"  I  will  speak  then,"  said  she,  "  whatsoever  it  may 
cost  me.  But  beware,  Sefior,  lest  thou  shouldst  gather 
from  my  words  one  thought  of  blame  against  my  beloved 
Dofia  Mercedes  or  my  venerated  master,  Sefior  Alonso. 
Heaven  knows  that  I  love  them  both.  God  knows,  too, 
the  secrets  of  hearts,  and  that  their  quarrel  was  no  proof 
that  they  did  not  love  each  other." 

"Quarrel!"  interposed  Resales  hastily,  "thy  master 
and  mistress  quarrelled  ?" 

"I  know  not  wherefore;  but  Dofia  Mercedes  often- 
times deceived  herself.  Thou  knowest,  Sefior,  she  was  a 
child,  loving  flowers  and  trinkets.  Accustomed  to  be 
obeyed,  the  slightest  refusal  or  the  least  contradiction 
grieved  her.  I  know,  for  I  nursed  her  in  my  arms,  and 
would  fain  have  given  her  the  stars  of  heaven  when  she 


THE   CRIME.  91 

reached  forth  her  little  hands  for  them.  His  majesty, 
Philip  IV.,  to  whom  Heaven  grant  a  long  reign,  came 
yesterday  to  the  studio.  This  was  a  great  honor  for  my 
master,  yea,  a  very  great  honor.  I  know  not  how  to  pro- 
ceed with  my  recital;  old  women  wander,  and  grief  hath 
turned  my  head.  My  poor,  beautiful  Mercedes!  If  thou 
couldst  know,  Sefior,  how  much  I  loved  her." 

Rosales*  piercing  glance  passed  from  the  judge  to 
Juana,  and  patting  the  latter  upon  the  shoulder,  he  said: 
"  Courage;  thou  wert  speaking  of  the  quarrel." 
"  Did  I  say  quarrel,  Sefior  ?"  said  Juana:  "  the  word 
was  too  strong,  much  too  strong;  dispute  at  the  most. 
They  loved  each  other  so  dearly,  but  poor  Dofia  Mer- 
cedes was  jealous.  A  child,  a  perfect  child  was  she. 
She  knoweth  now  how  ill-grounded  were  her  suspicions, 
but  at  eighteen  one  is  quick  and  ardent,  and  one  never 
reasons.  I  was  at  the  King's  visit.  Well,  he  deigned 
to  invite  my  young  mistress  to  the  court  balls,  and  when 
I  saw  her  after  his  majesty  had  been  most  royally  gra- 
cious to  her,  she  spoke  of  naught  but  her  costume,  her 
ornaments,  the  gala  dress  she  would  wear  and  the  jew- 
els she  was  to  purchase.  As  I  have  said  she  loved 
flowers  and  trinkets.  This  was  childish,  very  childish. 
Jacintha  discussed  with  her  the  color  of  her  new  gown, 
and  I  smiled  at  thought  of  seeing  her  so  fair  and  beauti- 
ful departing  for  the  ball.  Ah,  how  she  chattered  dur- 
ing dinner.  Sefior  Alonso  seemed  grave,  and  we  all 
knew  wherefore.  He  had  driven  away  Lello  Lelli, 
that  wicked  Italian.  When  I  wanted  to  picture  the 
devil  to  myself  I  always  thought  of  Lelli." 
"  Did  he  do  thee  any  personal  injury?" 
"Nay,  but  we  all  felt  him  to  be  a  miscreant." 
"  So  thy  master  seemed  less  gay  than  Sefiora  Merce- 
des ?" 

"Just  then  a  messenger  brought  a  letter." 


92  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

"Didst  know  this  messenger?" 

"No,  Sefior,  he  left  his  missive,  and  departed  without 
awaiting  a  response.  My  master  went  out  in  about  an 
hour.  Then  I  sought  Dofia  Mercedes,  whom  I  found  in 
tears.  She  did  not  reason,  but  spoke  as  one  in  a  dream: 
'  Alonso  loves  me  no  more,'  she  said,  '  he  never  loved 
me.'  I  sought  to  calm  her,  but  could  not  overcome 
her  resentment.  She  emptied  wardrobes  and  coffers 
and  taking  out  everything,  declared  that  she  would 
leave  Sefior  Alonso  forever." 

"To  what  didst  thou  attribute  this  sudden  resolve  ?" 

"To  the  letter." 

"  Her  husband  then  showed  it  to  her  ?" 

"What  does  that  import?  She  had  read  it,  and  be- 
came half-crazed  as  I  tell  thee.  I  persuaded  her  with 
much  difficulty  to  postpone  until  to-day  her  foolish  de- 
parture. I  felt  sure  that  my  master  would  explain  that 
fatal  letter;  that  he  would  tell  his  wife  the  secret.  She 
loved  me  well,  and  had  great  confidence  in  me.  I  ad- 
vised her  to  pray,  and  soon  she  grew  calm.  I  left  her 
sleeping." 

"  Knowest  thou  from  whom  came  this  letter?" 

"Thou  wilt  find  it  no  doubt  in  my  master's  apart- 
ments." 

"  We  shall  seek  it  hereafter.     Proceed." 

"  What  I  have  now  to  say  is  uncertain,  so  that  I  hesi- 
tate." 

"  Speak,"  said  Gaspardo,  "  in  the  name  of  truth." 

"  I  could  not  sleep  at  first,"  said  Juana,  "  the  memory 
of  my  mistress's  tears  troubled  me  still.  Though  Sefior 
Alonso  had  not  yet  revealed  the  secret,  I  sought  the  key 
to  this  mystery.  I  was  falling  asleep,  when  I  heard  a 
step  upon  the  first  floor." 

"  Art  sure  that  thou  wert  not  dreaming?" 

"Sure,  for  in  my  affection  for  my  mistress  I  sought  to 


THE  CRIME.  93 

picture  what  was  going  on.  My  God,  my  God!  why 
did  no  fear  or  doubt  cross  my  mind  ?  Wherefore  did  I 
remain  in  my  room  ?  But,  alas,  no  warning  presenti- 
ment came  to  me.  I  knew  Senor  Alonso  had  a  key.  I 
heard  some  one  come  upstairs.  Who  but  my  master 
could  come  thither  at  such  an  hour  ?  Hence  it  is  I  who 
have  killed  Mercedes.  If,  on  hearing  the  footstep  on  the 
stairs  I  had  gone  out  to  be  certain  that  I  was  right  I 
would  have  seen  the  robber,  the  murderer,  and  Mercedes 
would  have  been  saved." 

Juana  broke  into  sobs  once  more. 

"  Be  calm,"  said  Gaspardo,  gently;  "  we  have  greater 
need  than  ever  of  what  thou  hast  to  tell." 

"Then,"  asked  Resales,  "thou  art  convinced  that  it 
was  not  Alonso  Cano  who  entered  the  house  at  two  in 
the  morning  ?" 

"  Why,"  cried  Juana,  "  my  master  came  in  but  a  mo- 
ment before  your  excellencies." 

Gaspardo  looked  at  Resales  in  surprise,  and  said; 
"What  dost  thou  mean  ?" 

"Nothing,  oh  nothing,"  said  Resales,  "only  that  the 
affair  is  more  complicated  than  it  seemed  at  first."  The 
judge  resumed,  addressing  Juana: 

"Didst  hear  any  noise  in  the  apartment  of  thy  mis- 
tress ?" 

"A  sound  like  the  falling  of  some  piece  of  furniture, 
that  was  all.  I  explained  this  noise  to  myself  most 
readily.  I  supposed  that  my  master  had  come  up  with- 
out a  light." 

"  Didst  hear  aught  else  ?" 

"  In  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  I  heard  the  sound  of 
some  one  descending  the  stairs;  the  awful  deed  was  ac- 
complished, and  the  wretched  murderer  was  escaping 
from  the  house.  And  I,  pursuing  my  thought,  and 
connecting  everything  with  the  master,  said  to  myself, 


94  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

Sefior  Alonso  is  obliged  to  go  upon  some  journey,  and 
has  come  to  reassure  my  poor  child,  and  inform  her  of 
his  reasons  for  going.  Thinking  this  I  went  to  sleep  at 
last." 

Here  Juana  burst  into  tears  again. 

"  To  sleep,"  she  cried,  "and  at  that  very  moment  Mer- 
cedes was  dying  alone  and  unaided,  having  but  the 
statue  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  upon  whom  her  dying  eyes 
were  fixed." 

"At  what  hour  wert  thou  in  the  habit  of  entering  th} 
mistress's  room  ?" 

"About  seven.  This  morning  I  went  as  usual,  am; 
oh,  my  lords,  what  a  horrible  sight  met  my  eyes." 

"  Thou  knowest  nothing  more  ?"  asked  the  judge. 

"Nothing  more." 

"Did  Lelli  possess  a  key  to  the  house?" 

"  Yes,  Sefior,  but  he  returned  it  to  me  in  departing." 

"Then  to  your  knowledge,"  said  Rosal6s,  "Sefior 
Alonso  and  thou  alone  possessed  the  keys  of  the  house  ?" 

"  Yes,  your  excellency,"  said  Juana,  wiping  her  eyes. 

"During  his  stay  in  the  house,"  said  Gaspardo,  "Lelli 
may  have  had  a  second  key  made." 

"  Before  proceeding  farther,"  said  Resales,  "  and  if  it 
so  please  your  excellency,  it  seemeth  that  we  should  re 
call  Sefior  Castello  and  question  him  farther.  His  evi- 
dence will  tend  to  prove  an  alibi  for  this  Lelli,  or  to 
disprove  it  entirely." 

Again  Gaspardo  looked  at  Resales  in  surprise,  yet  his 
suggestion  was  but  just,  and  the  judge  proceeded  to  act 
thereupon. 

In  a  few  minutes  Juana  had  disappeared,  and  Castello 
was  again  in  presence  of  the  judge. 

"Remember,  Sefior,"  said  the  judge,  "that  the  slight- 
est details  are  of  importance,  and  answer  with  all  pos- 
sible deliberation  and  sincerity." 


THE   CRIME.  95 

"I  will  try,  your  excellency," said  Castello. 

"Thou  wert  present  at  the  quarrel  between  Miguel 
and  Lelli;  dost  thou  know,  exactly,  at  what  hour  the 
latter  quitted  the  studio  ?" 

"It  might  have  been  about  five.  I  left,  myseli,  soon 
after.  I  went  to  a  posada  situated  on  the  road  towards 
France,  where  I  had  promised  to  meet  a  friend.  There 
1  saw  Lelli  mounted  on  a  sorry  horse,  and  clad  in  his 
everlasting  red  doublet.  He  called  for  a  glass  of  wine, 
drank  it  without  stopping,  and  pursued  his  way.  I  rec- 
ognized him,  but  he  did  not  see  me.  And  I  am  convinced 
he  did  not  know  of  my  presence  there;  had  he  seen  me 
he  would  most  certainly  have  addressed  some  opprobri- 
ous language  to  me." 

Castello  then  gave  the  name  of  the  keeper  of  the  posada 
where  Lelli  had  stopped.  As  the  examination  of  this 
latter  was  not  just  then  necessary,  the  other  servants  of 
the  house  were  called.  Jacintha  knew  nothing,  except 
that  the  evening  before  she  had  left  her  mistress  radiant 
and  laughing  with  glee  at  the  thought  of  the  ball,  and  in 
the  morning  found  her  dead.  Juan,  the  valet,  deposed 
that  his  master  had  told  him  not  to  wait  up,  saying,  "  Do 
not  wait,  I  have  the  key." 

As  no  light  seemed  thrown  upon  this  mysterious  case 
Gaspardo  was  quite  cast  down.  Resales  on  the  contrary 
/ubbed  his  hands  with  an  air  of  satisfaction. 

"This  Lelli  is  a  clever  ruffian,"  said  the  judge;  "all 
these  precautions  were  no  doubt  taken  to  defeat  the  ends 
of  justice." 

"But  what  proof  is  there  of  Lelli's  guilt?" 

"  Every  proof;  the  hatred  he  bore  to  Cano,  especially 
after  his  dismissal;  the  theft  of  the  jewels,  a  motive  for 
which  is  found  in  the  poverty  of  a  man  called  by  his 
fellow-pupils  '  the  beggar.'  Art  thou  not  of  my  opinion, 
Sefior  Rosal6s  ?" 


96  THE   MONK'S  PARDON. 

"  No,"  said  he;  "  we  must  not  stoop  so  low  if  we  would 
discover  the  real  criminal." 

"What  dost  thou  mean?" 

"That  we  have  not  sufficiently  examined  these  apart- 
ments, and  that  in  seeking  farther  we  may  find  new 
sources  of  information." 

There  was  a  peculiar  light  in  Resales'  eyes  as  he  rose, 
and  again  the  representatives  of  justice  passed  into  the 
chamber  ol  death. 


SUSPICION.  97 


CHAPTER  VII. 

SUSPICION. 

THIS  time  the  premises  were  much  more  minutely 
examined.  Every  corner  of  the  chamber  of  death  was 
inspected,  and  in  fact  every  place  where  the  slightest 
clue  might  lie  concealed.  Resales,  in  foraging  about  the 
room  upon  which  death  had  left  its  awful  horror,  picked 
up  a  crumpled,  torn,  soiled  paper,  which  had  been  re- 
duced to  its  present  state  evidently  neither  by  negligence 
nor  indifference,  but  by  an  impulse  of  violent  anger.  An 
exclamation  of  surprise,  and  one  would  have  almost  said 
joy,  escaped  his  lips,  and  going  over  to  Gaspardo  he  said, 
with  ill-concealed  satisfaction: 

"  I  thought  I  was  upon  the  right  track;  now  I  am 
certain." 

"  What  hast  thou  found  ?"  asked  the  judge. 

"  Three  lines  which  are  quite  sufficient  to  hang  a  man." 

"  Show  them  to  me." 

"Let  the  others,"  said  Resale's,  "continue  making  an 
inventory  of  the  remaining  furniture  in  the  mortuary 
room.  What  I  have  to  say  must  be  heard  by  thee  alone." 

"  Thou  dost  frighten  me,"  said  the  judge. 

"I  knew  not  thy  friendship  for  Alonso  was  so  great." 

"  Say  sympathy  rather;  had  I  known  him  better  I 
doubt  not  this  sentiment  would  have  warmed  into  friend- 
ship. But,  as  thou  knowest  well,  I  will  suffer  no  private 
feeling  to  interfere  with  the  course  of  justice." 

"I  know  it  not  without  proofs,"  said  Rosales,  "for 
thou  didst  begin  by  denying  my  assertions,  but  now  thou 
wilt  soon  be  convinced  by  undeniable  evidence." 


98  THE   MONK'S   PARDON. 

"Come  to  the  point,"  said  the  judge  sharply. 

"Thou  believest,  Sefior,  in  Lelli's  guilt?" 

"I  do." 

"  Whereas  I  am  certain  that  he  is  innocent." 

"  But  the  ease  with  which  the  murderer  effected  his 
entrance  into  the  house  ?" 

"Is  explained  by  the  fact  that  the  murderer  possessed 
the  key." 

"  What,  thou  believest  — " 

"  Thou  dost  not  dare  to  utter  the  name  of  the  criminal." 

"The  criminal  ?  Say  not  that,  Resales,  it  is  impossible. 
Alonso  loved  his  wife,  and  thou  thyself  hast  witnessed 
the  depth  of  his  grief." 

"  Hypocrisy,"  said  Resales  coldly. 

"  How  provest  thou  that  ?" 

"  By  this  letter." 

Resales  handed  Gaspardo  the  letter  which  had  been 
brought  to  Cano  during  the  unfortunate  evening  upon 
which  he  had  visited  the  hapless  sister  of  Sebastian 
Llano  y  Valdez.  Gaspardo  read  it  attentively,  and 
passed  his  hand  repeatedly  across  his  forehead,  asking 
Rosal6s  in  a  trembling  voice: 

"What  dost  thou,  what  canst  thou,  conclude  from 
this?" 

"That  which  follows:  Mercedes*  jealousy  and  other 
defects  of  character  had  irritated  Cano  against  her. 
Juana  herself  admitted  that  a  somewhat  violent  scene 
occurred  between  them  yesterday  evening.  Mercedes 
took  it  so  much  to  heart  that  she  thought  of  leaving  her 
husband.  Cano  returned  home,  say  about  two  in  the 
morning.  The  explanation  with  his  wife  which  ensued 
threw  him  into  a  violent  rage.  Cano  struck  her.  Prob- 
ably the  first  stroke  was  fatal,  and  hence  Juana  heard  no 
noise  proceeding  from  their  room.  Terrified  at  what  he 
had  done,  and  fully  comprehending  its  awful  consequen- 


SUSPICION.  99 

ces,  Cano  seized  upon  his  wife's  diamonds  to  divert  sus- 
picion from  himself  and  make  it  appear  that  the  murder 
was  committed  with  a  view  to  robbery.  When  all  was 
over  he  fled,  and  probably  wandered  about  half  the  night 
in  the  country  outside  the  walls;  this  is  sufficiently  at- 
tested by  the  dust  upon  his  clothing  and  boots.  Having 
somewhat  recovered  his  composure  he  came  hither 
where  everything  accuses  him,  from  the  letter  signed 
Inez,  which  I  have  just  found,  to  the  dagger  with  which 
Mercedes  was  assassinated." 

"Horrible,  horrible!"  cried  the  judge;  "thou  dost 
accumulate  details,  carefully  chosen,  and  which,  com- 
bined, form — " 

"  Proofs,"  said  Resales,  in  an  icy  tone. 

"  Well,"  cried  Gaspardo,  "  though  it  is  true  that  cer- 
tain indications  form  a  chain  against  Alonso — I  will  not 
say  of  proofs,  for  God  forbid  that  I  accuse  any  one  rash- 
ly, but  of  circumstances — my  whole  being  from  my  heart 
as  a  man  to  my  conscience  as  a  judge  protests  against 
the  accusation  thou  bringest  against  him.  Nay,  there 
are  crimes  so  impossible,  perversity  so  revolting,  I  re- 
joice at  being,  unable  to  comprehend  them;  and  there- 
fore shrink  from  them  with  all  my  strength.  Alonso  a! 
traitor  and  a  murderer  ?  Nay;  so  much  perfidy  and  so 
much  cruelty  crowded  into  one  day  are  incredible. 
Thou  dost  not  know  Cano  as  an  artist,  Resales;  thou 
hast  never,  perchance,  even  entered  his  studio.  Other- 
wise thou  wouldst  divine  the  man's  character  from  his 
works.  Grave,  thoughtful,  devout,  he  finds  his  loftiest 
inspirations  in  faith.  His  architectural  plans  are  always 
for  churches,  his  finest  pieces  of  sculpture,  retablos  or 
tabernacles;  his  mother  was  a  saint,  and  I  am  only  sur- 
prised that  Alonso  did  not  become  a  monk." 

Rosal6s  listened  quietly  to  all  Gaspardo  said,  but 
when  he  had  finished  he  raised  his  head  and  said  calmly: 


ioo  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

"Thou  vauntest  the  gentleness  of  this  man;  yet  his 
hands  are  already  stained  with  blood." 

The  judge  was  disconcerted.  Rosal6s*  persistency  irri 
tated  him,  and  this  recollection  of  an  old  affair  seemed 
to  strike  him  like  a  blow. 

"  That  was  a  duel,  not  a  murder,"  he  said. 

"Surely,  Sefior  del  Roca,  it  is  not  for  thee  to  excuse 
a  duel,  since  dueling  is  condemned  by  the  laws  of  God 
and  man." 

"Something  may  be  forgiven  to  the  effervescence  of 
youth." 

"Perchance,  had  Cano  been  insulted;  but  he  was  the 
aggressor." 

"  He  hath  been  cruelly  punished  for  it." 

"  No  doubt,  though  at  least  thou  wilt  allow  that  he  is 
not  more  to  be  pitied  than  his  adversary." 

"  It  would  seem  that  thou  hatest  Cano,"  siiid  Gaspardo, 
looking  Rosales  steadfastly  in  the  face. 

"  And  it  would  seem  that  thou,  Sefior,  wouldst  im- 
pede, or  at  least  retard  the  cause  of  justice,"  answered 
Rosales. 

Gaspardo's  face  glowed  with  noble  indignation. 

"  On  the  contrary,"  he  said  warmly,  "  I  would  but 
wish  that  justice  be  free  from  all  prejudice  or  preposses- 
sion. Thou  art  but  a  novice  in  a  difficult  career,  Rosal6s. 
and  perchance  thine  ambition  may  lead  thee  to  rejoice 
in  having  the  direction  of  an  affair  wherein  thou  mayest 
display  thy  perspicacity  and  indisputable  skill.  But, 
believe  me,  there  comes  a  time  when  the  strictest  judge 
questions  his  own  conscience,  asking:  '  Have  I  sufficient- 
ly protected  the  innocent  ?  Have  I  placed  my  personal 
ambition  above  my  duty?'  Bitter  regrets  and  unavail 
ing  remorse  must  assail  the  unhappy  magistrate  who 
neither  criminal  nor  false,  has  not  yet  pursued  the 
way  of  justice  with  energy  mingled  with  compassion, 


SUSPICION.  101 

with  courage  and  honesty.  I  would  spare  myself  such 
anguish.  I  seek  truth  always  and  everywhere,  but  such 
truth  as  I  describe.  I  seek  her  that  she  may  enlighten, 
not  blind  me." 

"  Rest  content,"  said  Resales,  "  light  shall  be  thrown 
upon  this  darkness." 

This  interview  was  held  in  a  corner  of  the  room,  and 
in  a  voice  so  low  that  the  assistants  could  not  catch  a 
word.  But  what  they  did  remark  was  the  paleness  that 
overspread  Gaspardo's  face,  and  the  triumphant  expres- 
sion of  Resales. 

The  latter,  now  advancing  to  the  table,  said  coldly: 
"  Thinkest    thou   not   it   is    time    to  examine   Alonsa 
Cano  ?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Gaspardo,  "it  is  time." 
And  turning  to  one  of  the  secretaries,  he  said: 
"  Ask  Sefior  Cano  to  come  hither." 
Alonso  came.     He  could   scarcely   stand;  he   seemed 
exhausted;  sorrow  had   already  done  its  work  in  every 
feature   of   that   noble   and    expressive  face.     His  eyes 
were  red  with  weeping  and  his  lips  trembled  nervously. 
As  the  judge  had  declared,  there  was  no  trace  of  a  crim- 
inal about  him.     Gaspardo's  first  impulse  was  to  receive 
him  as  a  dear  brother,  and  strive,  if  not  to  console  him, 
at  least  to  soften  his  grief.     But  the  presence  of  Resales 
and  the  remembrance  of  the  duty  he   had   to  perform 
kept  him  within  the  limits  of  a  certain  reserve. 
Alonso  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  saying: 
"  Have  ye  as  yet  any  clue  to  the  criminal  ?" 
"  We  are  still  seeking,"  said  Gaspardo,  in  a  tremulous 
voice.     "  Oh,  collect  thy  thoughts;    forget  if  thou  canst 
a  moment   the  awful  blow  that  hath  stricken  thee,  and 
aid  us." 

"What  can  I  tell  thee  ?"  he  said;  "  my  head  is  dazed, 
and  my  heart  broken." 


102  THE   MONK'S   PARDON. 

Resales  took  the  fatal  poniard  from  the  table. 

"  Knowest  thou  this  weapon  ?"  he  said. 

Alonso  regarded  it  with  horror.  The  blood  upon  it 
was  that  of  Mercedes. 

"  That  weapon  is  mine,"  he  cried  in  amaze.  "  It  was 
carved  by  Balthasar  Gonsalvez.  How  comes  it  here? 
Where  did  the  assassin  find  it  ?  It  was  always  upon  the 
table  in  the  studio." 

"  Art  sure,"  said  Gaspardo,  "  that  it  has  not  since 
changed  place  ?" 

"  Most  sure." 

"This  weapon  is  finely  tempered,"  said  Resales;  "the 
alguazils  give  us  all  an  occasion  of  doing  police  duty  for 
ourselves,  or  at  least  being  on  our  guard.  It  would  not, 
therefore,  have  been  surprising  hadst  thou,  in  going  out 
yesterday  evening  for  a  long  walk,  stuck  this  dagger  in 
thy  belt  or  concealed  it  in  thy  breast." 

"  I  have  always  regarded  that  dagger,"  said  Alonso, 
"  which  is  a  marvel  of  carving,  as  an  object  of  art,  and 
not  at  all  a  weapon  of  defence.  When,  Sefior  Judge,  I 
find  it  necessary  to  take  such  precautions  as  thou  sug- 
gestest,  I  will  make  use  of  a  dagger  at  once  plainer  in  the 
handle  and  readier  to  the  hand." 

Gaspardo  replied  gently: 

"  Thou  didst  leave  the  house  early  yesterday  ?" 

"  Yes,  quite  early  in  the  evening." 

"And,"  continued  the  judge,  "I  crave  thy  pardon  if 
I  must  inquire  into  certain  details  of  thy  private  life. 
But  justice  is  slow  in  her  progress,  and  nothing  is  too 
slight  to  be  of  importance.  Thou  didst  apprise  Sefiora 
Mercedes  that  thy  absence  would  be  long." 

Alonso  covered  his  eyes  for  a  moment  with  his  hand. 

"Poor  child,"  said  he,  "poor,  dear  child.  It  is  not 
only  her  death  which  breaks  my  heart,  it  is  to  think  of 
her  state  of  mind  at  the  moment  when  death  overtook 


SUSPICION.  103 

her.     In  the  bed  beside  her  was  found  her  handkerchief 
wet  with  tears." 

Unable  to  say  more,  Alonso,  half  choked  by  sobs,  hif 
his  face  in  his  hands. 

"  I  take  thy  sorrow  as  a  proof  that  thou  didst  reall) 
love  thy  wife,"  said  Gaspardo. 

"God  knows  how  well,"  said  Alonso;  "that  was  our 
first  serious  disagreement,  and  ah,  about  how  trifling  a 
matter!" 

Resales  had  for  some  moments  turned  over  and  over 
in  his  hands  the  letter  found  in  the  chamber  of  death. 
He  spread  it  out  upon  the  table,  where  Alonso  could  see 
it,  and  fixing  his  piercing  eyes  upon  him,  said: 

"Was  not  the  disagreement  whereof  you  speak  caused 
by  the  reception  of  this  letter  ?" 

Alonso  instantly  recognized  Inez'  writing,  and  said 
calmly  though  sorrowfully: 

"  Yes,  it  was  in  truth  caused  by  that  letter." 

"It  compelled  thee  to  go  out,"  continued  Resale's; 
"  thy  young  wife  implored  thee  to  remain  with  her;  hence 
her  anguish  and  her  tears." 

"I  would  have  dried  them  this  morning,"  said  Alonso. 

"  Didst  thou  go  with  this  mysterious  messenger  who 
waited  for  thee  at  a  short  distance  from  the  house  ?" 

"I  did." 

"Whither  did  he  lead  thee?" 

Alonso's  face  flushed,  and  he  answered  faintly: 

"  I  cannot  say." 

"I  implore  thee,"  cried  Gaspardo  vehemently,  "no 
reticence,  no  fear,  nor  concealment.  The  hour  is  solemn, 
the  questions  are  exact,  thou  must  answer  them  with 
perfect  frankness.  Speak,  speak,  Alonso,  how  didst  thou 
spend  the  night  ?" 

"  I  repeat,"  said  the  artist,  "  that  I  may  not  reveal  my 


104  THE  MONK'S  -PARDON.    _. 

whereabouts.     An  oath,  a  sacred  oath  seals  my  lips,  and 
even  though  it  should  concern — " 

"  Thy  honor,"  interrupted  Gaspardo,  rising. 
-  "It  may  concern  thy  life,"  added  Rosales. 

The  artist  clutched  the  seat  on  which  he  sat  with  both 
hands,  and  livid  with  horror,  his  eyes  bloodshot,  cried 
out: 

"  I  must  have  misunderstood.  It  concerns  my  honor, 
my  life!  What  do  ye  mean  to  say?  What  do  ye  dare  to 
suspect  ?  Because  I  may  not  inform  thee  of  my  where- 
abouts last  night,  do  ye  conclude  that  I  am  guilty?  I 
must  be  silent,  because  two  lives  depend  upon  it.  I  have 
sworn  to  keep  their  secret,  and  I  will.  I  have  sworn, 
even  though  it  leads  me  to  torture  or  to  death,  and  never 
yet  has  Alonso  Cano  broken  his  word.  Dishonor  would 
be  in  perjuring  myself,  and  perjury  I  will  not  commit." 

"But,  hapless  man,"  cried  Gaspardo,  "seest  thou  not 
that  thy  silence  will  condemn  thee  ?" 

"Of  what?"  said  Alonso  in  a  voice  the  very  calmnes* 
of  which  was  terrible. 

The  judge  turned  away  and  could  not  answer,  but 
Rosal6s  said,  laying  a  stress  upon  every  word: 

"One  thing  thou  didst  forget  to  mention,  that  thou 
didst  return  to  thy  house  at  half-past  two  in  the  morn- 
ing." 

"I  return  thither?"  cried  Alonso;  "but  I  have  told  thee 
that  the  whole  night  was  devoted  to  the  accomplishment 
of  a  sacred  and  delicate  duty;  and  wherefore  should  I 
return  thither,  and  at  that  hour  precisely?  Or  rather,  if 
I  came  in.  wherefore  did  I  go  out  again?" 

Rosales,  still  turning  the  letter  over  in  his  hands, 
said : 

"Thou  didst  return  because  thou  knewest  Dofia  Mer- 
cedes to  be  troubled,  anxious,  and  as  thou  hast  thyself 
said  so  unhappy  that  she  spoke  of  leaving  thee.  Thy 


SUSPICION.  10$ 

explanation  with  her,  far  from  appeasing  her,  led  to  a 
violent  scene;  thou  wert  armed  with  this  dagger,  and — " 

"Stop!"  cried  Cano  with  a  violence  which  almost  terri- 
fied his  hearers,  "  stop,  thou  art  about  to  say,  wretch, 
that  I  murdered  my  wife." 

The  rage  depicted  upon  the  artist's  face  was  something 
indescribable;  the  horror,  the  agony  in  every  line  of  it 

"Observe,"  said  Rosales  coldly,  "that  thou  wert  the 
first  to  pronounce  the  word." 

"  Then  it  is  true  that  thou  darest  to  accuse  me,"  cried 
Alonso. 

Gaspardo  grasped  both  his  hands. 

"Defend  thyself,  oh,  I  pray  thee,  defend  thyself." 

"  Defend  myself  against  such  a  crime  as  that — the  crime 
of  murder  ?  No.  God  sees,  and  He  will  judge  me." 

"But  men  accuse  thee,"  urged  Gaspardo. 

"That,"  said  Alonso,  "concerns  but  their  own  con- 
science." 

"Oh,  God  is  my  witness,"  said  Gaspardo,  "that  I  be- 
lieve fully  in  thine  innocence,  but  it  must  be  proven  to 
men.  Reveal  but  the  secret  of  how  the  hours  of  the 
night  between  thy  going  and  returning  hence  were  spent, 
and  thou  art  saved." 

"Then  I  am  lost,  Sefior  Gaspardo,  for  that  is  impos- 
sible." 

"  Nothing  is  impossible  in  such  a  case,"  said  Gaspardo. 
"We  sometimes  promise  secrecy,  and  in  ordinary  cases 
honor  compels  us  to  keep  our  promise  ;  but  here,  where 
there  is  question  of  a  fearful  accusation,  aggravated  by 
the  suspicions  which  thy  refusal  may  engender,  and  sus- 
tained by — " 

Gaspardo  stopped  for  the  second  time.  He  had  not  the 
courage  to  finish.  Alonso  himself  finished  the  sentence: 

"Sustained  by  this  letter  signed  by  Inez,  and  the 
poniard  ?" 


106  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

"  Yes,"  said  Rosal6s. 

"  But  there  has  not  only  been  murder  but  theft  com- 
mitted here,"  said  Alonso. 

Resales  merely  pointed  to  one  sentence  in  the  letter. 

"Then  I  am  not  only  capable  of  killing  my  wife,  but 
of  taking  her  diamonds  to  give  them  to — ' 

He  stopped.     Gaspardo  seized  his  hands  again. 

"  Go  on,"  he  said,  "  go  on." 

Alonso  threw  back  his  head  proudly;  there  was  a  new 
dignity  upon  his  face,  a  new  light  in  his  eyes. 

"  What  art  thou  about  to  do  with  me  ?"  he  said. 

Gaspardo  answered  gently: 

"Our  duty  done,  we  will  refer  the  matter  to  the  judg- 
ment of  the  Supreme  Court." 

"Till  then?" 

"  Thou  wilt  pledge  thyself  not  to  leave  the  hous*?" 

"  I  pledge  myself." 

"  Remain  here  then,  Alonso  Cano." 

The  judge  and  his  assistants  withdrew,  and  Alonso 
with  a  firm  step  passed  into  the  chamber  of  death. 

A  great  calm  had  succeeded  to  his  horror  and  despair. 
The  very  extent  of  the  double  calamity  that  had  befallen 
him  endowed  him,  as  often  happens  in  a  great  crisis,  with 
wonderful  fortitude.  He  accepted  the  sacrifice,  thinking 
of  Sebastian  Llano  y  Valdez. 

"  The  stain  of  blood  is  not  yet  washed  away,"  he 
thought;  "it  is  the  justice  of  Heaven  which  strikes  me 
now.  I  will  humble  myself  and  accept  it." 

He  entered  the  chamber  of  death  as  a  criminal  enters 
a  church.  He  knelt  down  beside  the  bed,  and  after 
praying  for  some  time  rose  and  opened  the  door.  With- 
out he  saw  Miguel. 

"Thou  hast  not  abandoned  me,  Miguel,"  he  said. 

"  Nay,  master,  nor  the  others  either.  The  greater  tf  y 
misfortune,  the  more  faithful  shall  we  be  to  thee." 


SUSPICION.  107 

"  Then,  Miguel,  go  down  into  the  studio,  and  bring 
thence  an  easel,  a  canvas,  and  a  box  of  colors." 

"  What  wouldst  thou  with  them,  master?"  asked  Mig 
uel  in  some  alarm. 

"  I  would  take  the  portrait  of  Mercedes  dead,"  an 
swered  Alonso. 

The  young  man  looked  at  his  master  in  amazement. 

"Be  quick!  be  quick!"  said  Alonso.  "I  know  not 
whether  I  shall  have  time  to  finish  it." 

Miguel  went  down,  got  what  he  was  told,  and  brought 
them  to  Alonso.  While  left  alone  the  artist  had  opened 
the  window  and  let  in  air  and  sunshine.  A  ray,  falling 
upon  the  bed,  seemed  to  rest  upon  Mercedes'  horror- 
stricken  countenance,  and,  by  a  pious  illusion,  Alonso 
persuaded  himself  that  the  expression  upon  the  face  of 
the  corpse  had  grown  soft  and  peaceful. 

"  I  would  fain,"  said  Alonso  to  Miguel,  "  whatever 
may  befall  me,  keep  this  memory  of  Mercedes.  If  I  die, 
I  will  leave  it  to  thee.  If  I  survive  this  horrible  drama 
the  tragic  details  of  which  are  not  yet  ended,  I  will  find 
in  the  constant  contemplation  of  this  portrait  a  reminder 
of  the  worthlessness  of  life.  Remember  that,  Miguel, 
yesterday  the  King  of  Spain  sat  in  my  studio;  to-day,  to- 
morrow, at  any  hour,  the  judges  may  demand  my  head." 

"  Oh,  master,  canst  thou  speak  of  anything  so  horrible 
with  calmness?" 

"  I  have  my  conscience,"  said  Alonso,  "  but  if  it  is 
£alm  my  heart  revenges  itself  upon  me.  Would  cries, 
or  tears,  or  despair  aid  me?  I  will  put  all  of  them  into 
this  picture.  My  dead  Mercedes  will  forever  remind  me 
not  only  of  my  present  misfortune,  but  of  the  other,  the 
other." 

"  What,  the  duel  ?" 

"The  duel  which  cost  a  human  life,  Miguel." 

Alonso  then   seated  himself  at  the  easel,  and  for  the 


io8  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

moment  forgot,  in  the  artist,  the  husband  and  the  >  an 
under  a  terrible  accusation.  He  began  to  draw  Merce- 
des* features  with  a  precision  of  touch  and  an  inspiration 
before  unknown  to  him.  Miguel  watched  him  with  an 
admiration  not  unminglcd  with  terror.  The  pallor  of 
death  overspreading  the  face  of  Mercedes,  her  disordered 
hair,  the  wounds  in  her  throat,  were  all  rendered  "ith 
terrible  reality.  The  resemblance  was  perfect.  N  jver 
had  Alonso  Cano  shown  such  power,  and  it  was  to  the 
terrible  excitement  of  that  hour  that  he  owed  his  most 
magnificent  work.  The  day  was  waning  into  night  when 
he  laid  aside  the  brush. 

"  Miguel,"  said  he,  "  I  know  not  what  may  befall  me. 
Keep  this  canvas,  guard  it  faithfully,  until  I  ask  for  it 
again.  Should  I  die  it  will  be^the  legacy  of  my  friend- 
ship to  thee." 

Miguel  bathed  his  master's  hand  with  his  tears,  as,  tak- 
ing the  picture,  he  departed.  For  Alonso  had  said  to 
him  in  a  tone  which  admitted  of  no  appeal: 

"  Now  leave  me,  I  would  pray." 

Miguel  felt  that  he  could  not  disobey,  and  at  once  left 
the  room.  At  the  foot  of  the  stairs  he  met  Juana,  weep- 
ing as  though  her  heart  would  break. 

"  Thou  art  going,  Sefior  Miguel,"  she  said,  "  thou 
wouldst  desert  thy  hapless  master.  Can  it  be  true  what 
thy  companions  said  ?  Yesterday  Alonso  forbade  thee 
the  house,  and  to-day — " 

The  young  man  took  the  nurse's  withered  hand  in  his. 

"  Had  matters  remained  as  they  were  yesterday,  Juana," 
he  said,  "were  Sefior  Alonso  still  professor  to  the  In- 
fante, a  favorite  of  the  King,  I  should  long  since  have 
departed  from  a  house  whence  I  was  dismissed.  Severe 
or  not  my  master's  command  was  sacred  to  me.  But  a 
fearful  misfortune  has  fallen  on  him,  a  misfortune  greater 
even  than  thou  canst  conceive." 


SUSPICION.  109 

"  Mercedes  my  child  is  dead,"  said  the  old  woman. 
"What  can  be  worse  than  that  ?" 

"  Sefior  Alonso  being  accused  of  the  murder,"  an- 
swered Miguel. 

"  Our  Lady  of  Mercy,"  cried  Juana,  raising  her  with- 
ered hands  to  Heaven,  "that  cannot  be.  It  is  too  vile, 
too  infamous,  for  it  is  a  calumny,  and  a  greater  crime 
even  than  the  murder  of  Mercedes." 

"Yet  it  is  true,"  said  Miguel;  "  I  have  it  from  the  mas- 
ter's own  lips." 

All  at  once  Juana  tapped  her  forehead  with  a  sort  of 
frenzy. 

"  Resales,"  she  said,  "  Rosal6s." 

"  He  is  the  assessor  to  Gaspardo,  who  showed  such 
compassion  towards  Sefior  Alonso." 

"It  is  possible,  quite  possible,"  cried  the  old  woman, 
as  if  talking  to  herself.  "  I  alone  know  it,  the  master 
does  not  guess  it.  Rosales  will  be  his  ruin.  He  has  a 
motive  for  it." 

"What  motive?" 

"  He  asked  Dofia  Mercedes  in  marriage  before  Sefioi' 
Alonso." 

"  She  refused  him  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes!   she  confided  it  to  me." 

"You  suppose  him  capable  of — ?" 

"  Of  anything,"  said  the  old  woman  hoarsely,  "  of 
anything." 

"  What  is  to  be  done  ?  what  is  to  be  done  ?"  cried  Mig- 
uel. Then  he  remembered  his  comrades,  and  hastily 
leaving  Juana  said  to  her  kindly: 

"Appearances,  the  law,  are  now  against  the  Michael 
Angelo  of  Spain,  but  he  still  has  the  brave  young  men 
of  his  school  to  defend  him,  and  all  is  not  yet  lost." 


1 10  THE   MONK'S   PARDON. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

MIGUEL'S  ALGUAZILS. 

THE  judges,  on  leaving  Cano's  house,  repaired  to  that 
of  a  judge  of  the  Supreme  Court.  Having  heard  their  re- 
port, and  the  evidence  of  the  witnesses,  and  Alonso's  own 
examination,  he  decided  upon  the  arrest  of  Cano,  against 
whom  he  declared  there  was  strong  circumstantial  evi- 
dence. However,  in  consideration  of  the  artist's  high 
reputation  in  Madrid  and  his  favor  with  the  King,  he 
decided  to  wait  until  night,  so  as  to  spare  him  being  sub- 
jected to  the  humiliating  curiosity  of  the  crowd. 

Gaspardo  del  Roca  vainly  sought  to  influence  his  su- 
perior and  bring  him  to  his  own  way  of  thinking.  The 
latter,  a  veteran  lawyer,  applauded  the  keen  perception 
displayed  by  Resales,  and  plainly  told  him  that  Cano's 
trial  would  lead  to  his  own  advancement. 

"  Dost  apprehend  any  resistance  on  Cano's  part  to  the 
law  ?"  asked  the  judge  of  Gaspardo. 

"  None  whatever,"  said  Gaspardo.  "  Strong  in  the 
acquittal  of  his  conscience,  for  I  persist  in  believing  him 
innocent  until  his  guilt  is  absolutely  proved,  Alonso  will 
go  quietly  whither  it  pleases  thee  to  send  him." 

The  judge  touched  a  gong.    An  officer  appeared. 

"Send  a  carriage  to  Sefior  Gaspardo's  house  at  ten 
o'clock  this  evening." 

The  latter  rose  hastily. 

"Your  excellency  will  deign  to  excuse  me  from  the 
performance  of  so  painful  a  duty,"  said  he. 

"  Rosal6s  will  take  thy  place,  Sefior  Gaspardo,"  said 
the  judge;  "but  permit  me  to  remind  thee  that  such 


MIGUEL'S  ALGUAZILS.  in 

exaggerated  sensibility   is  ill    in    accordance  with  the 
stern  and  impartial  administration  of  justice." 

"  I  am  at  thy  service,  my  lord,"  said  Resales. 

The  judge  then  turned  altogether  to  Resales,  as  if  he 
placed  the  matter  wholly  in  his  hands. 

"  The  carriage  will  be  at  thy  house  at  ten  precisely,' 
he  said;  "thou  wilt  go  in  it  to  the  dwelling  of  Alonso 
Cano,  and  ask  him  to  accompany  thee.  If  he  assents  no 
force  is  necessary.  If  he  resists  twelve  alguazils  and  an 
alferez  *  will  be  there.  Thou  canst  use  them  at  need." 

"  Once  in  the  carriage — " 

"  Thou  wilt  bring  him  to  the  prison,  and  leave  him 
there." 

"  Your  excellency  may  count  on  me." 

Gaspardo  rose. 

"  Does,  then,  the  burden  of  this  affair  still  rest  with 
me  ?"  he  asked. 

"  It  does,"  said  his  superior,  "  for  whatsoever  thy  opin- 
ions may  be,  I  know  thy  integrity." 

Gaspardo  then  withdrew,  leaving  Resales  and  Manoel 
Lascazaros  together.  These  men  had  each  a  very  differ- 
ent  interest  in  the  affair.  Manoel  Lascazaros  loved  jus- 
tice for  its  own  sake,  but  he  exaggerated  alike  its  duties 
and  its  privileges.  His  desire  was  to  make  this  "  priest- 
hood of  the  law,"  of  which  he  was  a  member,  the  greatest 
power  in  Spain.  With  a  clear,  methodical,  though  some-- 
what  biased  mind,  he  was  admirably  fitted  for  the  high 
dignity  with  which  he  was  invested,  so  far  as  its  princi-. 
pal  obligations  were  concerned.  But  his  unbounded 
self-esteem,  and  the  importance  which  he  attached  to  his 
own  personality,  often  had  a  bad  effect  upon  the  adminis- 
tration of  his  office.  In  his  judicial  capacity  he  took 
only  the  most  severe  and  implacable  view  of  every  case. 

*  An  officer  in  command  of  the  alguatils  or  military  police. 


112  THE   MONK'S   PARDON. 

Constant  contact  with  criminals  had  so  hardened  \  5 
heart  that  he  did  not  believe  in  innocence.  Every  sus- 
pected man  he  held  to  be  guilty.  Pity  had  no  place  in 
his  heart.  He  felt  that  he  soared  above  the  common 
herd  in  two  ways,  by  his  power  and  by  his  contempt  of 
them.  Philip  IV.,  who  from  the  natural  gentleness  of 
his  disposition,  was  inclined  to  clemency,  almost  feared 
Manoel  Lascazaros.  When  he  would  fain  have  granted 
a  pardon,  Manoel  invariably  represented  the  dangers 
which  menaced  the  state,  showed  Spain  to  be  upon  the 
brink  of  ruin,  and  managed  to  associate  with  any  crime 
or  misdeed  whatsoever  some  suggestion  of  a  Portuguese 
rising. 

This  was  Philip's  susceptible  point.  All  who  showed 
any  sympathy  with  the  house  of  Braganza  were  the 
King's  enemies.  By  means  of  some  such  subterfuge 
Manoel  hoped  to  surprise  the  King  into  signing  Alonso 
Cano's  death-warrant.  For,  after  an  hour's  conversation 
with  Resale's,  Manoel  was  perfectly  convinced  of  the  art- 
ist's guilt. 

As  for  Resales,  Juana  was  right  when  she  told  Miguel 
that  the  lawyer  had  kept  the  old  grudge  of  Mercedes' 
refusal  rankling  at  the  bottom  of  his  heart.  Too  hypo- 
critical to  show  his  hatred,  he  had  waited  with  a  sort  of 
fatalistic  certainty  till  Alonso  should  fall  into  his  hands. 
Certain  birds  can  foresee  a  storm;  certain  beasts  can 
scent  a  corpse  from  any  distance,  and  certain  men  can 
anticipate,  almost  to  a  nicety,  the  precise  moment  when 
some  one  whom  they  hate  will  fall  into  their  hands,  and 
his  happiness,  his  honor,  or  his  life  be  at  their  disposal. 

Alonso  Cano's  life  hitherto  had  giveji  but  little  hope 
of  any  such  opportunity  occurring.  The  impetuous 
young  man,  once  so  skilful  with  the  sword,  whose  duel 
With  Sebastian  Llano  y  Valdez  had  had  such  disastrous 
consequences,  had  grown  since  that  event  gentle  and  pa- 


MIGUELS   ALGUAZILS.  113 

tient.  His  works  all  inspired  the  beholder  with  a  tender 
piety  as  well  as  an  ardent  admiration.  If  artists  are  now 
permitted  to  expose  publicly  various  works  of  art  which 
cannot  fail  to  offend  every  delicate  feeling,  it  was  not  so 
in  Spain,  where  the  great  respect  for  religion  engendered 
also  a  reverence  for  art.  No  artist,  sculptor,  or  painter 
was  allowed  the  right  of  exhibiting  indecent  pictures, 
and  just  as  there  were  tribunals  of  common  law,  or  eccle- 
siastical courts  for  cases  of  conscience,  so  there  existed  a 
special  tribunal,  connected  with  the  Inquisition,  having 
absolute  supervision  over  all  works  of  painting  or  sculp- 
ture executed  by  Spanish  artists. 

Never  had  Alonso's  pencil  or  brush  lent  themselves  to 
any  reprehensible  work.  His  genius  and  his  honor  were 
upon  the  sarne  high  level.  Hence  Resales  had  had 
to  wait  years  for  an  opportunity  to  wreak  his  spite. 
Eagerly  now  he  sought  the  ruin  of  a  man  who  was  not 
aware  of  having  even  involuntarily  offended  him.  It 
Wanted  but  a  few  hours  of  the  time  when  he  could,  in 
the  name  of  justice,  lay  his  hand  upon  the  shoulder 
of  Alonso  Cano.  Yet  short  as  the  time  was,  he  could 
scarcely  restrain  his  fiery  impatience.  Once  alone,  he 
began  to  mutter  hoarse  imprecations  mingled  with  alow, 
sardonic  laughter,  more  frightful  than  the  most  awful 
outbursts  of  rage.  To  pass  the  time  he  questioned  the 
alferez  in  command  of  the  twelve  alguazils  who  were  to 
do  escort  duty. 

"  Thou  didst  understand  me,  Sefior  alferez  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Perfectly,"  replied  the  officer. 

"  Let  me  hear  thee,  then,  repeat  my  orders,"  he  per- 
sisted. 

"At  ten  o'clock  precisely,"  began  the  officer,  "a  car- 
riage is  to  be  at  Alonso  Cano's  door.  My  men  are  to 
surround  it  to  keep  back  the  crowd,  and  help  thee  in 
case  of  need." 


114  THE   MONK'S   PARDON. 

"Very  good.  I  trust  that  these  precautions  will  be 
useless.  Nevertheless,  prepare  yourselves  well." 

"We  shall  be  prepared.  Has  your  excellency  any  fur- 
ther orders  to  give  ?" 

"  None." 

The  alferez  retired  and  Resales  began  to  pace  the 
room.  At  half-past  nine  he  left  the  house.  He  might 
have  had  the  carriage  call  for  him,  but  he  preferred  to 
Walk.  His  head  was  burning;  he  was  feverish  with  the 
consuming  fever  of  hatred  impatient  to  gratify  itself. 

Whilst  judges,  officers  and  soldiers  were  taking  pre- 
cautions in  case  of  resistance  on  his  part,  Alonso  was 
quietly  kneeling  in  Mercedes'  room  beside  the  bed  of 
death. 

Juana,  knowing  that  the  inquest  was  over,  had,  with 
the  utmost  care  and  maternal  tenderness,  sought  to  di- 
vest the  room  of  a  portion  of  its  horror. 

She  drew  the  white  coverlet  over  the  body  of  her 
young  mistress,  concealing  its  ghastly  wounds;  she 
placed  a  crucifix  in  the  stiffened  hands;  she  arranged  the 
curtains  so  as  to  cast  a  soft  light  upon  the  young  face, 
pale  with  the  awful  pallor  of  death.  Some  fragrant  pas- 
tilles burning  in  a  brazier  improved  the  air  of  the  room, 
and  Juana  had  besides  sent  to  a  neighboring  huertas  *  for 
branches  of  flowering  orange  and  pomegranate,  which 
she  disposed  around  the  bed.  All  the  while  Alonso  re- 
mained absorbed  in  prayer.  The  blow  which  had  fallen 
upon  him  was  so  sudden  and  so  terrible  that  he  had  no 
energy  to  defend  himself  from  it. 

Besides,  as  we  have  said,  the  recollection  of  his  duel 
with  Sebastian  weighed  so  heavily  upon  his  mind,  and 
he  had  so  long  believed  in  the  retributive  justice  which 
must  come  upon  him,  that  he  accepted  this  terrible  trial 

*  Plantation. 


MIGUEL'S   ALGUAZILS.  115 

as  an  expiation.  He  felt  that  any  defence  he  might 
make  would  fail.  He  would  be  found  guilty.  If  human 
justice  were  mistaken  in  accusing  him  of  Mercedes' 
murder,  Divine  justice  was  but  accomplishing  its  work, 
slowly  but  surely,  in  asking  of  him  the  price  of  Sebas- 
tian's blood,  which  had  not  ceased  to  cry  to  Heaven 
against  him. 

At  ten  o'clock  the  door  of  the  house  opened  to  admit 
two  sets  of  men;  the  one  came  with  the  coffin  for  Merce- 
des, the  other  to  arrest  Alonso. 

And  from  that  desolate  house  the  dead  and  the  living 
were  to  go  forth.  Who  could  tell  that  they  were  not 
soon  to  meet?  for  the  death  of  the  one  might  but  pre- 
cede the  execution  of  the  other.  Alonso  Cano  was  to  be 
taken  first;  the  dead  could  wait.  When  Resales  appeared 
upon  the  threshold  of  the  door  the  artist  rose.  He  bent 
over  the  bed,  and  his  lips,  almost  as  cold  as  those  of  the 
corpse,  touched  her  forehead. 

"  Sleep  in  peace,  poor  murdered  one,"  he  said  softly. 

"  Such  hypocrisy  cannot  impose  upon  the  law,"  said 
Rosales. 

"  Sefior,"  said  Alonso,  calmly,  "thy  duty,  I  believe,  is 
to  arrest  me.  I  was  not  aware  that  the  tribunal  which 
has  not  yet  pronounced  upon  my  fate  had  given  thee,  in 
advance,  a  commission  to  insult  me." 

Alonso  turned  quietly  from  him  to  the  alferez. 

"I  am  thy  prisoner,"  he  said,  "and  place  myself  con 
fidently  in  thy  hands;  a  Spanish  soldier  never  yet  insulted 
the  unfortunate." 

Juana  rushed  over  and  kissed  her  master's  hands. 

"A  parting  word,  Juana,"  said  Alonso:  "  This  house  is 
mine.  I  leave  it  in  thy  charge.  Remain  here,  whatso- 
ever befalls.  If  I  return,  it  will  console  me  to  find  thee 
here.  If  I  do  not  return,  keep  it  in  remembrance  of  the 
beloved  dead,  and  as  a  token  of  my  gratitude.  In  such 


110  THE   MONK'S   PARDON. 

case  I  will  send  thee  all  the  necessary  authorization. 
Weep  not,  this  trial  is  from  God;  His  adorable  will  be 
done." 

With  one  last  look  of  mingled  reverence  and  affection 
at  her  master,  Juana  turned  away  and  threw  herself 
down  at  the  foot  of  Mercedes*  bed,  sobbing  as  if  her 
heart  would  break. 

The  alferez,  Rosales,  and  Alonso  went  downstairs  to- 
gether. Once  there  Alonso  turned  towards  the  studio 
door.  He  expected  to  see  all,  or  at  least  some,  of  his 
pupils  waiting  for  him.  To  bid  them  a  last  farewell 
would  have  consoled  him.  He  had  believed  so  firmly  in 
their  love  for  him. 

But,  alas!  the  studio  was  empty.  Through  its  wide 
open  doors  came  glimpses  of  statues,  or  the  golden  gleam 
of  picture-frames,  shining  out  in  the  glare  of  the  torches 
which  alguazils  held  upon  the  threshold.  Without,  the 
mules  were  pawing  the  ground  and  tossing  their  heads. 

The  alferez  drew  back  to  let  Alonso  pass  first.  The 
artist  turned  to  Rosales. 

"  Is  it  absolutely  necessary,"  asked  he,  "  that  thou 
shouldst  accompany  me?" 

"Yea,  absolutely  necessary,"  said  Resale's.  "I  fear  that 
did  I  leave  thee  thou  wouldst  corrupt  with  thy  gold  the 
men  charged  to  conduct  thee." 

The  alferez  hearing  what  passed,  said: 

"Remember,  Sefior,  that  a  soldier  esteems  his  honor  as 
highly  as  a  magistrate." 

"I  submit,"  said  Alonso. 

He  entered  the  carriage,  and  Rosales  entered  with 
him.  The  mules  went  at  a  moderate  pace,  so  that  the 
alguazils  and  the  alferez  who  were  on  foot  could  keep 
up  with  the  carriage.  Alonso  was  silent,  and  Rosales 
observed  him  curiously;  this  scrutiny  from  a  man  whom 


MIGUEL'S  ALGUAZILS.  117 

he  knew  to  be  hostile  to  his  cause  so  wearied  Alonso  that 
he  closed  his  eyes  to  escape  the  searching  glance. 

In  the  distance  \vas  heard  the  sound  of  guitars.  Some 
navios  serenading  their  sweethearts. 

As  the  carriage  passed  through  a  street,  so  narrow  that 
the  word  lane  would  have  better  described  it,  it  was  ob- 
structed by  a  group  of  young  men.  They  were  singing 
and  shouting  with  an  uproarious  gayety,  which  proved 
that  they  had  partaken  freely  of  Spanish  wines.  All 
held  instruments  of  one  kind  or  another  in  their  hands; 
drums,  tambourines,  violins,  guitars;  they  played  lively 
tunes,  accompanying  a  dozen  different  songs  set  to  differ- 
ent airs.  As  we  have  intimated,  the  street  was  so  narrow 
that  the  first  carriage  could  scarcely  make  its  way;  and 
now  a  second  one,  well-appointed  and  carefully  driven, 
appeared  from  the  opposite  direction.  The  alguaziU 
advanced  and  ordered  the  serenaders  to  retire. 

They  seemed  too  drunk  to  have  the  least  respect  for 
law  or  even  armed  force.  They  responded  to  warn- 
ings by  a  couplet,  and  to  threats  by  a  touch  of  the  guitar. 
Yet  despite  their  disobedience  they  seemed  so  merry,  so 
light-hearted,  so  unconscious  of  offence,  that  the  alferez, 
though  understanding  the  awkwardness  of  the  situation, 
hesitated  to  give  an  order  which  might  have  terrible 
consequences  for  some. 

At  that  period  every  one  carried  a  sword  or  a  dagger, 
so  that  bloody  combats  were  not  infrequent.  Never 
was  human  life  held  more  cheaply,  notwithstanding  the 
severe  laws  made  to  protect  it.  Not  a  week  passed  but 
some  one  was  found  dead  in  the  streets.  The  King  dis- 
liked bloodshed  above  all  things,  and  had  given  express 
orders  to  prevent  quarrels  between  soldiers  and  citizens. 

Besides,  in  this  case  the  first  sword  drawn  would  be 
the  signal  for  a  general  affray.  These  merry  young 
blades,  elated  by  wine,  would  certainly  make  a  deter- 


ii8  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

mined  resistance,  and  many  lives  might  be  lost  in  this 
futile  skirmish.  The  alferez  came  to  the  carriage  door. 

"  I  cannot  take  any  responsibility  upon  myself,"  he 
said  to  Resales.  "Your  excellency  must  decide." 

The  judge  was  perplexed. 

"  The  carriage  which  is  blocking  the  way  has  not  gone 
on  ?"  he  said. 

"  No!  and  even  should  it  pass  we  still  have  to  deal  with 
this  band  of  half-drunken  students,  whom,  as  it  is,  can 
scarcely  be  kept  back  by  my  men.  They  insist  that 
there  is  a  Sefiora  hidden  in  this  caniage,  and  they  swear 
to  protect  her." 

"Take  the  wisest  course,  then,"  said  Resales;  "have 
the  carriage  turned  and  let  us  go  by  the  next  street." 

"  But  your  excellency  must  be  aware  that  the  street 
is  so  narrow  that  it  would  be  impossible  to  turn." 

"Decide  on  something,  Sefior,"  said  Resales  sharply. 

Just  then  the  measured  tread  of  a  company  of  soldiers 
•was  heard  at  the  other  end  of  the  street. 

"  Here  are  reinforcements!"  cried  the  alferez. 

The  carriage  in  which  Alonso  and  Resale's  were,  was 
in  this  position:  directly  before  them,  to  protect  the 
mules,  the  vehicle  and  the  coachman,  were  the  algua- 
zils,  who  kept  back,  with  ever-increasing  difficulty,  the 
advance  of  the  disorderly  revellers.  Farther  on  was 
another  carriage,  whereof  the  mules  kept  up  a  great 
snorting  and  pawing  whilst  the  drivers  uttered  ringing 
oaths,  and  a  young  man  put  his  head  out  of  the  window, 
ever  and  anon,  and  ordered  them  imperiously  to  go  on 
at  all  hazards.  Behind  were  the  detachment  of  men 
whom  the  alferez  hailed  as  a  reinforcement. 

"Sefior  alferez"  said  Rosal6s,  "since  it  is  impossible 
for  us  to  advance,  thanks  to  these  insolent,  drunken 
fools,  and  we  cannot  turn  back,  there  is  but  one  course 
open  to  us.  Whilst  thy  men  keep  these  drunken  ruffians 


MIGUEL'S  ALGUAZILS.  119 

at  bay  we  shall  alight,  and,  escorted  by  thee  and  these 
new-comers,  whose  services  I  will  demand  in  the  name 
of  the  law,  we  shall  proceed  on  foot  to  the  prison." 

"  It  is  the  best  thing  that  can  be  done,"  cried  the  aJ- 
ferez. 

In  a  short  time  twenty  additional  alguazils  surrounded 
the  carriage.  They  scarcely  awaited  their  officer's  orders. 
They  declared  that  Castilian  honor  forbade  that  they 
should  turn  back.  When  they  had  put  themselves  on 
guard  around  Alonso  and  Resales,  and  attempted  to  push 
them  forward,  a  terrible  uproar  occurred  in  the  street; 
the  mules  snorted,  all  the  instruments  began  to  play  at 
once,  the  students  rushed  to  the  mules'  heads,  and  a 
pistol-shot  was  heard. 

This  sound  seemed  to  alarm  the  revellers,  and  they 
began  to  disperse  with  great  hue  and  cry  and  shouts  of 
murder.  All  at  once  Resales  saw  that  the  passage  was 
free,  and  even  the  carriage  which  had  obstructed  the  way 
was  gone. 

Beside  Resales  still  sat  the  motionless  figure,  with 
cloak  drawn  up  round  its  throat  and  hat  somewhat  over 
his  eyes.  In  all  the  tumult  Resales  had  never  lost  sight 
of  that  a  moment.  It  was  his  prey,  his  vengeance.  The 
judge  then  re-entered  the  carriage,  and  his  silent  com- 
panion took  his  place  at  his  side;  gradually  the  shouts 
of  the  serenaders,  the  noise  of  the  alguazils  in  pursuit  of 
them,  and  the  rumble  of  the  departing  carriage  died 
away  one  by  one. 

The  alferez  was  close  at  hand. 

At  last  the  great  dark  mass  of  the  prison  was  outlined 
in  the  gloom.  The  heavy  knocker  was  sounded  by  one 
of  the  escort;  the  door  rolled  upon  its  hinges,  and  the 
carriage  drove  into  the  yard. 

Then  only  did  Resales  breathe  freely.  Once  behind 
these  gratings  his  prisoner  could  not  escape  him.  The 


12O  THE  MONK'S   PARDON. 

prisoner  seemed,  indeed,  to  have  little  thought  of  escape 
just  then.  Wrapped  in  his  own  thoughts,  he  leaned  back 
quietly  in  a  corner  of  the  carriage.  He  got  out  when  he 
was  told  and  followed  the  jailer  unresistingly. 

"Thou  wilt  answer  for  this  man  with  thy  life,"  said 
Resales  to  the  head  jailer. 

"What  is  given  into  my  charge  I  keep,"  said  the  jailer, 
curtly. 

He  opened  a  great  book  and  said  to  the  judge: 

"  I  must  inscribe  the  prisoner's  name." 

"Write,"  said  Resales,  slowly,  as  though  pronouncing 
his  enemy's  name  under  such  circumstances  gave  him  a 
rare  degree  of  satisfaction,  "  Alonso  Cano,  painter  to  the 
King!" 

A  shout  of  laughter  echoed  through  the  room. 

The  jailer,  the  alferez,  and  Resales  all  looked  sternly 
at  the  soldiers,  supposing  that  one  of  them  had  committed 
the  unpardonable  fault  of  forgetting  that  the  head  turn- 
key's room  was,  as  it  were,  the  vestibule  of  the  court. 

"  Accused  of  what  crime  ?"  asked  the  jailer. 

"The  murder  of  his  wife." 

A  louder  and  more  unrestrained  burst  of  laughter  fol- 
lowed this  statement. 

"Who  has  been  guilty  of  that  indecorous  laughter?" 
asked  Resales  looking  around. 

"  I  crave  your  excellency's  pardon,"  said  the  prisoner, 
"  but  it  was  I.  I  am  not  laughing  at  the  law,  only  I 
think  it  is  sometimes  deceived.  I  am  not  Alonso  Cano, 
much  to  my  regret,  for  the  man  who  bears  that  name  is 
the  glory  of  Spain." 

"Thou  art  not  Alonso  Cano,"  said  Resales  in  a  ter- 
rible voice,  and  thrusting  his  blanched  face  close  to  that 
of  the  prisoner.  The  prisoner  for  answer  threw  off  his 
sombrero  and  showed  a  young  and  joyous  face  of  twenty. 

"My  name  is  Elio,"  he  said,  "and  I   have  just   been 


MIGUEL'S  ALGUAZILS.  121 

taken  in  flagrante  delicto  of  nocturnal  disturbance  with 
the  aggravating  circumstances  of  guitar  and  castanets." 

Elio  threw  off  his  cloak,  and  they  saw  that  he  actually 
had  a  pair  of  ebony  castanets  and  a  guitar  slung  over 
his  shoulder  by  a  blue  ribbon. 

"Wretch  !  wretch  !"  cried  Resales. 

"I  crave  a  thousand  pardons  of  your  excellency," said 
Elio,  "but  one  is  not  a  wretch  for  having  drunk  a  little 
too  much  Spanish  wine  and  sung  a  couplet  or  two  under 
a  mirador.  Perchance  I  esteem  too  highly  the  privileges 
of  youth,  but  in  any  case  I  belong  to  a  noble  family 
who  will  willingly  be  my  security  and  come  to  seek  me 
in  prison  if  your  excellency  thinks  proper  to  detain  me 
until  to-morrow." 

Resales  stamped  his  foot  with  rage. 

The  alferez  meanwhile  stood  by  and  regarded  the 
scene  without  moving  a  muscle  of  his  face.  He  was  not 
altogether  displeased  at  the  turn  affairs  had  taken  and 
the  deception  practised  upon  a  judge  who  had  told  him 
plainly  that  he  would  not  trust  him  with  so  valuable  a 
prisoner  as  Alonso  Cano. 

"As  I  said  before,"  cried  Resale's,  "thou  art  a  wretch. 
I  comprehend  now  the  aim  of  thy  devilish  serenade  and 
ihe  carriage  which  barred  the  street;  thou  hast  made  a 
sport  of  legal  power,  laid  a  snare  for  the  law,  and  helped 
a  criminal  to  escape." 

"  Alonso  Cano  was  not  yet  judged  !" 

"Ha  !  thou  confessest  then  thy  guilt?" 

"  How  can  I  deny  it  in  presence  of  the  witnesses  ?" 

"  The  alferez  and  his  men  ?" 

"  No,  my  guitar  and  my  castanets." 

Resales  bit  his  lip  with  rage. 

"  What  is  to  be  done  ?"  thought  he,  "  what  is  to  be 
done?  If  such  a  scheme,  so  many  subterfuges,  were 
devised,  a  serenade,  an  emeute,  a  conspiracy  improvised 


122  THE   MONK'S   PARDON. 

to  deliver  Mercedes'  murderer,  I  can  gain  littic  by  pursu- 
ing him.  He  has  escaped  me,  and  the  vengeance  which 
I  hoped  to  enjoy  bit  by  bit  is  lost  to  me  forever.  To 
detain  this  insolent  young  fool,  who  laughs  and  mocks 
at  me  to  my  face,  would  be  only  to  expose  myself  to 
further  ridicule.  The  very  evidence  of  the  alferez  would 
tell  against  me.  So,  naught  remains  but  to  admit  that 
the  game  is  lost."  He  turned  to  Elio. 

"  Thou  art  free,"  said  he. 

"I  thank  your  excellency  all  the  more,"  said  Elio, 
"  that  the  night  is  not  yet  so  far  advanced  but  that  I  can 
continue  my  serenade." 

So  saying  he  threw  his  cloak  over  his  shoulder,  took 
his  guitar  in  hie  hand,  placed  his  hat  jauntily  upon  one 
side  and  left  the  prison.  Scarcely  was  he  outside  when 
he  began  to  improvise,  with  no  mean  skill,  a  song  with 
peculiar  words  which  caused  many  a  head  to  appear  at 
the  windows  as  he  passed. 

In  about  an  hour  he  reached  one  of  the  fondas  o/  Ma- 
drid. He  gave  some  mysterious  countersign  at  the  door, 
and  was  immediately  admitted  to  a  room  where  Alonso 
Cano's  pupils  greeted  him  with  the  utmost  enthusiasm 


THE   RIDE.  123 


CHAPTER   IX. 
THE  RIDE. 

AT  the  moment  when  the  twenty  newly  arrived  algua- 
zils  surrounded  the  carriage  containing  Resales  and  his 
prisoner,  and  when  the  uproar  in  the  street  seemed  at  its 
height,  Alonso  Cano,  alighting  with  his  conductor  from 
the  carriage,  felt  himself  suddenly  jostled  and  pressed 
forward  in  the  most  unaccountable  manner.  He  knew 
nothing  more  till  he  found  himself  again  shut  up  in  a 
close  carriage.  Putting  his  head  out  of  the  window  he 
saw  himself  still  punctilliously  escorted  by  nine  or  ten 
alguazils.  Ever  and  anon,  at  stated  intervals,  or  in  turn- 
ing the  corners  of  streets,  the  driver  of  the  carriage  pro- 
nounced some  word  which  Alonso  could  not  understand. 
Other  alguazils,  who  seemed  stationed  at  these  posts,  re- 
plied by  some  countersign,  and  the  carriage  went  on. 

The  night  was  very  dark,  and  but  for  the  lamps  burn- 
ing in  front  of  houses  to  honor  the  Madonna,  there  was 
no  light  in  the  streets.  Occasionally  the  snatch  of  a 
serenade  came  with  a  sort  of  cruel  irony  as  if  to  mock 
the  artist's  terrible  situation. 

To  the  episode  of  the  disorderly  students  he  owed  his 
deliverance  from  Resales'  presence,  for  the  piercing  gaze 
of  those  dark  eyes  had  so  unnerved  him  that  he  rejoiced 
at  being  left  alone. 

So  many  varied  emotions  had  succeeded  each  other 
since  the  evening  previous  that  the  hapless  artist  was 
scarcely  able  to  realize  the  terrible  blow  that  had  fallen 
upon  him. 


124  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

The  whirlpool  of  sorrow  had  engulfed  him.  Heart 
and  mind  were  weighed  down  with  heavy  grief.  From 
the  pinnacle  of  a  much-envied  prosperity  he  had  rolled 
into  an  apparently  fathomless  abyss. 

If  Gaspardo  del  Roca's  honor  and  integrity  consoled 
him  somewhat  and  gave  him  some  hope,  Resales'  sinister 
looks,  and  the  manner  in  which  he  had  conducted  the 
examination,  convinced  him,  on  the  other  hand,  that  he 
had  a  mortal  enemy  in  a  man  whom  he  could  not  re- 
member to  have  offended  in  any  way.  It  is  often  thus  in 
life;  the  wayfarer,  heedlessly  pursuing  the  aim  of  the 
moment,  suddenly  steps  upon  a  nest  of  vipers,  who  rise, 
hissing  at  him,  with  venomous  tongue  and  eyes  of  fire. 
So  with  the  man  who,  disdaining  all  sordid  cares,  free 
alike  from  hatred  and  from  jealousy,  is  guided  solely 
by  inspiration,  and  makes  his  life  a  carefully  guarded 
sanctuary,  till  unconsciously  he  finds  in  his  path  a  brood 
of  traitors  and  slanderers  whose  tongues  distill  calumny, 
and  who  gloat  over  the  wounds  they  make. 

Though  unaware  of  the  cause  of  RosaleV  hatred, 
Alonso  felt  assured  of  the  hatred  itself.  Moreover,  he 
knew  that  his  mysterious  silence,  as  to  his  whereabouts 
during  the  fatal  night,  cast  great  suspicion  upon  him. 
His  only  consolation  was  the  thought  that  he  had  done 
his  duty  and  acquitted,  as  far  as  possible,  his  debt  to 
Sebastian. 

Alonso  began  also  to  wonder  whither  they  were  taking 
him.  Evidently  not  to  the  common  jail.  The  carriage 
had  passed  through  the  streets  and  suburbs  of  Ma- 
drid, and  was  without  the  walls  in  the  country.  Where 
could  they  be  taking  him?  If  he  had  conspired  against 
the  King,  the  state,  or  even  the  prime  minister,  he  knew 
that  his  destination  would  be  some  remote  fortress.  But 
the  crime  of  which  he  was  accused  came  within  the  juris- 


THE   RIDE.  125 

diction  of  the  ordinary  tribunals,  and  in  the  province  of 
judges  charged  with  the  administration  of  common  law. 

Whilst  the  horses  were  being  changed  he  opened  the 
can  iage  window  and  called.  An  alguazil  appeared. 

"  What  wouldst  thou,  Sefior  Cano?"  he  said  gently. 

"Knowest  thou  whither  they  are  taking  me?"  he  asked. 

"  Thou  wilt  learn  presently,"  answered  the  official. 
"Meanwhile,  permit  me  to  offer  thee  some  refresh- 
ment; thou  hast  taken  naught  during  the  journey,  and 
must  be  faint." 

"  Thanks,"  replied  Alonso,  "  my  heart  is  too  full  of 
emotion.  I  cannot  eat." 

"  Courage,  Sefior,"  said  the  alguazil;  "  things  may  be 
better  than  thou  thinkest." 

He  saluted  and  retired,  but  returned  soon  after  with  a 
glass  of  Malaga  wine,  which  Alonso  accepted.  In  a  mo- 
ment the  carriage  had  started  again.  Involuntarily  Alonso 
felt  relieved.  The  voice  of  the  man  with  whom  he  had 
spoken  was  full  of  sympathy.  The  unfortunate  are  more 
susceptible  to  pity  than  any  others. 

Letting  down  the  window  Alonso  saw  that  they  were 
passing  through  a  fertile  and  beautiful  country;  planta- 
tions of  maize,  huertas  of  orange,  lemon,  and  pomegranate 
succeeded  each  other,  giving  forth  rich  perfumes  to  the 
soft  and  balmy  air  of  that  glorious  June  night. 

At  length  Alonso  perceived  a  habitation  on  the  road- 
side to  his  left.  He  heard  a  whistle,  and  the  carriage 
stopped.  Two  alguazils,  stationed  on  either  side  of  the 
coach,  and  one  riding  behind,  were  now  joined  by  five 
horsemen,  who  had  formed  part  of  the  escort  from  Ma- 
drid. They  were  armed  to  the  teeth,  and  it  would  have 
gone  ill  with  any  who  dared  to  dispute  their  passage. 
The  alguazil  who  had  spoken  to  Alonso  before  now  ad- 
vanced again  and  said: 


126  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

"Wilt  thou  alight,  Sefior  Cano  ?" 

The  artist  did  as  desired. 

"  Follow  me,"  said  the  young  man. 

"  Wilt  thou  not  inform  me  at  least  whither  I  am  go- 
ing ?"  said  Alonso. 

"  Thou  hast  arrived  at  thy  destination,"  replied  the 
other. 

The  young  man  went  first.  Alonso  followed  him, 
whilst  the  horsemen  and  the  other  alguazils  brought  up 
the  rear. 

Two  old  servants,  aroused  by  the  knocking  of  one  of 
the  soldiers,  appeared  upon  the  threshold,  bowed  very 
low,  and  threw  open  the  doors  of  a  large  salon,  whither 
they  brought  two  lamps. 

This  done  they  retired,  much  puzzled  by  the  whole 
affair,  and  half  alarmed  at  the  uniforms  of  the  alguazils. 
The  manner  of  the  latter,  however,  which  was  not  very 
warlike,  reassured  them. 

Alonso  went  first  into  the  dimly  lighted  room.  He 
was  followed  by  eight  men.  Each  of  the  eight  now 
threw  off  his  hat  and  cloak,  and  Alonso  thought  he  must 
be  dreaming,  when  he  recognized  Miguel,  Pablo,  Bar- 
tholomeo,  Pedro  Castello,  and  four  others  of  his  pupils. 

"You  here,"  he  cried,  "what  means  this?" 

"  It  means,  master,"  said  Bartholomeo,  "  that  we  have 
carried  thee  off." 

"  Ah,  hapless  youths,  what  have  you  done  ?"  cried 
Alonso. 

"  The  only  sensible  thing,"  said  Castello. 

"It  was  Miguel's  idea,"  said  Pablo,  "a  splendid  one, 
which  we  adopted  with  enthusiasm." 

"  But  to  fly  from  justice  looks  as  if  there  were  reason 
to  fear  it,"  said  Alonso. 

"And  so  there  is,  master,"  said  Miguel. 


THE   RIDE.  127 

"It  matters  not,"  said  Alonso,  "since  I  am  accused  I 
must  appear  before  the  tribunal  of  justice." 

"  Master,"  said  Miguel,  "  wilt  thou  permit  me  to  ex- 
plain our  idea  to  thee  ?" 

"Speak,  my  boy,  speak!" 

And  more  touched  than  he  cared  to  show,  Alonso/ 
clasped  Miguel's  hands  in  both  his  own. 

"I  respect  the  law,"  said  Miguel,  "but  it  sometimes 
acts  with  dangerous  haste,  and  like  all  things  human  is 
liable  to  error.  Art  not  thou  thyself  a  striking  illustra- 
tion of  what  I  say,  master  ?  Thou  art  bound  by  an  oath, 
its  nature  I  know  not,  but  it  seals  thy  lips." 

"  True,"  murmured  Alonso. 

"  Is  it  possible  for  thee  to  be  released  from  this  oath  ?" 

"It  is." 

"May  not  the  wretched  murderer  of  Sefiora  Mercedes 
be  also  discovered  ?" 

"Undoubtedly." 

"  Reflect  then,  master,  that  placed  between  two  favor- 
able chances  thou  wouldst  throw  away  the  benefit  of 
both.  The  haste  with  which  Sefior  Resales  is  acting  in 
this  affair  for  motives  of  his  own,  will  prevent  thee  from 
apprising  those  who  hold  thy  life  in  their  hands  of  thy 
danger,  or  of  awaiting  the  arrest  and  conviction  of  the 
real  criminal,  who  I  am  persuaded  is  Lelli." 

"Yes,  Lelli !"  cried  the  others. 

Miguel  resumed: 

"What  we  have  done  is  not  to  defeat  the  ends  of  jus- 
tice, but  to  preserve  it  from  a  rash  act,  the  consequences 
of  which  would  be  irreparable.  No  one  in  Madrid  sus- 
pects where  thou  now  art.  Resales  took  to  prison  a 
brave  lad,  disguised  in  thy  coat  and  mantle,  who  bore 
his  captivity  with  the  best  possible  grace." 

"But  the  serenade?"  said  Cano. 


128  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

"  Say  rather  the  charivari,  master,"  said  Miguel.  "  Bui 
since  it  pleases  thee  to  be  indulgent,  the  serenade  was 
organized  by  some  good  comrades  of  ours,  pupils  of 
Velasquez  and  Murillo." 

"They  awaited  then  the  arrival  of  the  carriage,  where- 
in I  was  ?"  said  Alonso. 

"Yes;  but  well  armed.  Their  drums  and  guitars  were 
not  their  only  weapons,  swords  and  poniards  were  hid- 
den beneath  their  cloaks." 

"  And  the  carriage  obstructing  the  street  ?" 

"Was  that  in  which  thou  hast  since  made  this  journey." 

"  But  the  young  man  who  stormed  so  at  the  driver?" 

"That  was  I,  Sefior,"  said  a  good-looking  young  stu- 
dent, bowing  respectfully  to  the  artist. 

The  latter  extended  his  hand  to  him  with  emotion. 

"And  the  alguazils ?"  cried  Alonso,  more  and  more 
amazed. 

"  Were  Miguel's  alguazils,"  cried  Bartholomeo. 

"  My  friends,  my  children,"  cried  Alonso  deeply  moved, 
"this  is  a  miracle." 

"A  miracle  of  gratitude,"  cried  they. 

"  But  how  could  ye  in  so  short  a  time  conceive  a  plot 
so  marvellous  ?" 

"  Oh,  it  did  not  take  long,  thanks  to  Miguel,"  said 
Castello. 

"Always  Miguel!"  exclaimed  Alonso.  "Yet  on  the 
day  before  I — " 

"Punished  Miguel  for  a  grave  misdeed,"  interrupted 
Miguel;  "that  was  thy  right,  and  mine  is  to  place  myself 
between  thee  and  misfortune." 

"Tell  me  then  all  that  transpired,"  cried  Alonso;  "I 
would  hear  every  detail." 

"  When  the  judges  left  thy  house,"  said  Miguel,  "  Sefior 
Gaspardo's  despondency  and  the  ugly  smile  of  Resales 


THE  RIDE.  129 

revealed  to  us  thy  danger.  Juana  gave  us  some  further 
information  which  decided  us.  I  remained  with  thee  in 
the  chamber  of  death  while  thou  didst  sketch  the  por- 
trait of  thy  lost  one.  When  I  left  thee  I  met  my  comrades 
in  a/onda,  where  sometimes  at  evening  we  are  wont  to 
sip  our  sherbet.  We  were  all  of  one  mind  and  one  heart, 
we  were  determined  to  rescue  thee  from  the  hands  of  a 
man  whose  hatred  and  malice  are  justly  to  be  appre- 
hended. Had  we  consulted  thee  thou  wouldst  not  have 
given  thy  consent." 

"  No,"  said  Alonso. 

"Thou  wouldst  have  depended  upon  thine  innocence 
before  the  bar  of  justice." 

"  Innocence  is  strength,"  said  Alonso. 

"Such  strength  as  belongs  to  martyrs." 

"There  is  grandeur  in  suffering." 

"  Yes,  for  a  great  cause,  master,  for  king,  for  country,  of 
for  God.  But  to  suffer  for  a  crime  of  which  one  is  innocent, 
to  undergo  undeserved  shame  and  humiliation  and  death 
is  terrible,  not  only  for  the  victim  but  for  those  who  have 
condemned  him,  and  must  sooner  or  later  be  consumed  by 
unavailing  remorse.  If  justice  comes  slowly,  she  comes 
none  the  less  surely,  and  when  she  tears  away  the  final 
veils  and  displays  the  real  criminal,  with  what  pity  and 
horror  must  she  not  remember  her  innocent  victim. 
That  is  what  we  were  determined  to  prevent.  We  were 
obliged  to  act  alone,  for  we  knew  full  well  thou  wouldst 
not  become  our  accomplice.  In  less  than  an  hour  the 
pupils  of  all  the  great  studios  of  Madrid  were  assembled 
in  the  fonda.  Each  one  swore  solemnly  to  be  silent  as  to 
all  that  took  place.  Whosoever  betrayed  this  oath  would 
be  degraded  forever  in  the  eyes  of  all  from  that  nobility 
of  art  of  which  we  are  so  proud.  We  exacted  an  oath 
when  indeed  a  promise  would  have  sufficed.  Castello 


130  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

was  the  spokesman.  I  assure  thee  he  spoke  eloquently, 
and  pronounced  not  thy  panegyric,  it  was  a  true  descrip- 
tion of  thee.  Not  one  of  the  valiant  young  men  present 
refused  his  aid;  the  enthusiasm  was  unanimous;  the 
pupils  of  Alonso  Cano,  Velasquez,  and  Murillo  were 
brothers  in  that  hour." 

"  Brave  hearts!"  cried  the  artist. 

"  Yes,"  said  Miguel  with  growing  emotion,  "  they  were 
brave  hearts  indeed.  We  knew  it  would  be  useless  to 
attempt  a  rescue  once  thou  wert  in  prison.  The  drive 
from  thy  house  thither  was  our  only  chance  of  success. 
But  we  were  aware  that  the  serenaders  alone  would  be 
of  little  avail,  any  more  than  the  carriage  blocking  the 
way.  Nor  could  we  dream  of  armed  resistance;  blood- 
shed in  thy  cause  thou  wouldst  have  regarded  with 
horror.  Moreover,  in  case  of  failure,  for  under  such  cir- 
cumstances everything  must  be  foreseen,  such  bloodshed 
would  have  doubled  thy  peril.  We  had  to  defeat  justice 
with  its  own  weapons,  armed  force  by  unarmed  force, 
real  alguazils  by  false  ones.  It  is  good  to  have  friends 
everywhere.  I  had  often  made  decorations  for  the 
theatre,  where  the  dramas  of  Calderon  and  Lope  de 
Vega  are  acted.  I  went  to  the  manager  of  this  theatre 
and  told  him  that  we  were  going  to  play  a  very  amusing 
comedy,  called  "Le  Corregidor,"  among  ourselves;  that 
twenty  of  us  would  represent  alguazils.  I  hinted  that  if 
he  were  good  enough  to  lend  me  the  costumes  I  would 
be  at  his  service  for  the  first  decorations  he  required.  1 
gained  my  point.  The  costumes  were  at  the  fonda  in  an 
hour,  and  we  soon  transformed  twenty  of  us  into  ridicu- 
lous looking  alguazils,  who  would,  however,  each  one 
have  died  for  the  good  cause  he  had  sworn  to  defend." 

"  Dear,  dear  boys,"  said  Alonso  in  a  broken  voice. 

"  It  was  then  about  nine  o'clock,"  continued  Miguel, 


THE   RIDE.  131 

"and  it  would  have  been  imprudent  for  us  to  dress  in 
the  fonda,  for  the  worthy  innkeeper  would  have  been 
rarely  puzzled  to  know  how  his  best  apartment  was  sud- 
denly changed  into  a  guard-room.  Each  of  us  took  our 
uniform  under  our  arms,  drew  our  cloaks  about  us,  and 
arranged  a  meeting  place  near  thy  dwelling." 

"Yet  when  I  came  downstairs  and  saw  the  studio 
empty,"  said  Alonso,  "  I  accused  you  in  my  heart  of  hav- 
ing deserted  me." 

"  Our  absence  did  seem  like  ingratitude,"  said  Castello, 

"We  were  sure  of  explaining  it  to  thee  later,"  said 
Pablo. 

"  Scarcely  wert  thou  in  the  carriage,"  said  Miguel, 
"when  we  formed  ourselves  into  a  battalion.  We  had  to 
follow  thee,  remaining  invisible.  To  have  gone  in  ad- 
vance would  have  been  useless,  for  the  way  was  blocked 
up  by  serenaders.  We  were  to  arrive  in  the  thick  of  the 
uproar,  appear  to  Resales  as  delivering  angels  in  the 
uniform  of  algttazils,  and  deceive  the  alferez  himself, 
thanks  to  the  darkness  01  me  streets.  The  rest  thou 
knowest.  Having  made  thee  alight  from  the  carriage, 
we  wrapped  thee  up,  hurried  thee  into  the  carriage,  and 
whilst  Elio,  his  guitar  over  his  shoulder,  went  to  prison 
in  company  with  Rosales,  we  brought  thee  here." 

"  Where  am  I  then  ?"  asked  Cano. 

"  In  my  father's  country  house,"  said  one  of  the  young 
men  present;  "  the  keys  were  in  my  possession,  and  when 
he  learns  that  thou  hast  deigned  to  stop  here  he  will  be 
proud  and  happy." 

Alonso  rose  and  stretched  out  his  arms. 

"Come  all  of  you,"  he  cried,  "to  this  heart  which  ye 
have  so  much  consoled.  If  I  die,  to  you  the  task  of 
clearing  my  memory." 

"Thou  shalt  not  die!"  cried  all  present. 


132  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

"Can  I  then  lie  under  the  ignominy  of  such  an  accu- 
sation, and  fly  from  my  judges?"  said  Alonso. 

"Thou  must,  master,"  said  Bartholomeo  gravely; 
"  thou  didst  not  fly,  but  rather  submitted  to  a  stern  ne- 
cessity. If  thou  dost  not  leave  Madrid,  thou  art  lost. 
The  death  of  Dofia  Mercedes  has  made  a  sensation;  the 
inquest  and  thy  departure  will  make  another.  It  will 
surely  reach  the  ears  of  those  for  whom  thou  art  sacri- 
ficing thyself." 

"  Yes,  perchance,"  said  Alonso. 

"Moreover,"  said  Miguel,  "one  of  us  can  go  in  pur- 
suit of  Lelli.  I,  if  thou  wilt.  I  will  journey  through 
Spain  and  France,  and  search  Italy,  town  by  town,  till  I 
find  that  cursed  Italian.  I  will  bring  him  to  confession;  I 
swear  by  our  Lady  of  the  Pillar.  Oh,  undo  not  what  we 
have  done  with  so  much  difficulty.  Reject  not  the  aid  of 
thy  pupils,  thy  friends,  thy  children.  Enshroud  thine 
existence  with  the  deepest  mystery  till  the  secret  of  thine 
innocence  and  thy  heroism  be  revealed  to  the  nation. 
God  has  not  favored  thine  almost  miraculous  escape  that 
thou  shouldst  throw  away  the  benefit  thereof." 

"Thou  art  right;  it  was  a  miracle,"  said  Alonso. 

"Accept  it  then  from  Heaven,  master,"  said  Pablo. 

"Break  not  our  hearts  by  a  refusal,"  said  Bartholomeo. 

"In  the  name  of  thy  dead  Mercedes,"  said  Miguel, 
with  affectionate  entreaty,  "consent  to  let  us  save  thee. 
She,  whom  thou  didst  love,  and  who  didst  suffer  so  cruel 
a  death,  has  prayed  to  God  and  the  Virgin  for  thy  safety. 
Doubt  not,  master,  that  it  was  she  who  obtained  from 
Heaven  this  favor,  who  inspired  us  to  save  thee,  and  pro- 
cured us  the  means." 

The  artist  let  his  head  fall  upon  his  hands.  He  did 
not  speak,  but  his  pupils  saw  that  he  was  weeping.  They 
respected  his  sorrow.  Silent  and  deeply  touched  they 


THE  RIDE.  133 

stood  upright,  forming  a  compact  group  around  him, 
and  holding  each  other's  hands  like  men  bound  by  a 
common  oath,  and  whom  a  common  heroic  action  had 
united  for  evermore  in  an  indissoluble  friendship.  For 
some  time  Alonso  remained  absorbed  in  the  newly- 
aroused  recollection  of  his  wife.  He  also  weighed  care- 
fully the  reasons  advanced  by  his  pupils  against  his  risk- 
ing his  life.  His  conscience  seemed  in  harmony  with  the 
opinions  of  those  around  him.  He  raised  his  head.  He 
dried  his  tears;  a  noble  fire  shone  in  his  eyes. 

"I  accept,"  said  he,  "all  that  ye  have  done,  and  I  bless 
you  for  your  devotion  It  will  best  prove  any  worth  I 
may  have,  for  it  will  prove  how  much  I  was  loved." 

"What  wilt  thou  do  next?"  said  Castello. 

"  Go  straight  before  me  seeking  oblivion." 

"Good,"  said  Miguel;  "meantime  I  will  go  to  Italy. 
Do  not  pity  me,~master,  nor  yet  applaud  me  too  highly 
for  what  I  do.  If  my  purse  be  light,  thou  hast  often 
told  me  I  had  talent.  In  the  schools  of  Bologna,  Venice, 
and  Rome,  I  shall  find  work  enough  to  keep  me  from 
starving.  Be  assured  that  I  shall  not  forget  Naples.  I 
shall  be  glad  of  an  opportunity  to  visit  Ribera's  studio, 
and  compare  his  present  luxury  with  his  former  poverty. 
Who  knows  but  I  may  find  Lelli  there?  Those  two  met* 
are  made  for  each  other." 

"Beware,  Miguel,"  said  Alonso;  "be  on  thy  guard 
against  Lelli." 

"I  will,  indeed,  master,"  said  Miguel;  "though  I  am, 
convinced  that  honest  people  always  win  at  such  games 
as  this." 

"Right,  Miguel,"  cried  Castello,  "for  Heaven  is  with 
them." 

The  young  men  now  produced,  each  from  the  pocke* 
of  his  doublet,  some  pieces  of  gold. 


134  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

"  Master,"  said  Bartholomeo,  "  it  is  but  little,  the  offer- 
ing of  pilgrims  of  art;  but  do  not  grieve  us  by  refusing 
it." 

"  No,"  said  Alonso.  "  I  may  well  accept  your  gold, 
since  I  have  accepted  your  lives." 

Caste  llo  now  approached,  moved  to  tears. 

"It  remains  but  to  say  farewell,  master,"  he  said;  "we 
must  be  in  Madrid  before  dawn,  and  be  assured  we  will 
assist  at  the  Sefiora  Mercedes'  requiem." 

"Farewell,  noble  hearts,"  cried  Alonso;  "God  knows 
when  we  shall  meet  again.  May  ye  be  as  happy  as  ye 
deserve;  win  fame  and  honor,  and  believe  that  while 
Alonso  Cano  draws  the  breath  of  life  he  will  remember 
you." 

They  departed,  and  Alonso  watched  them;  some  en- 
tering the  carriage,  others  mounting  their  steeds.  Then 
gradually  the  noise  of  wheels  and  the  gallop  of  ^horses 
were  lost  in  the  distance,  and  Alonso  was  alone.  He 
threw  himself  into  a  chair,  where,  exhausted,  he  fell  into 
a  profound  sleep.  At  dawn  he  took  a  slight  repast,  gave 
a  piece  of  gold  to  the  servant,  and  passing  out  through 
the  little  garden,  reached  the  high  road.  The  high 
road — whither  did  it  lead  ?  He  knew  not.  But,  as  he 
said,  he  placed  himself  entirely  in  the  hands  of  Provi- 
dence, and  determined  to  go  straight  before  him  till  he 
found  repose,  solitude,  oblivion. 


THE  HAUNTED   HOUSE.  135 


CHAPTER  X. 
THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE. 

A  TRAVELLER,  who  showed  his  extreme  fatigue  by  the 
manner  in  which  he  leaned  upon  his  staff  of  orange 
wood,  wended  his  way  from  the  port  of  Grao  to  the 
village  of  Las  Cabanas.  Nothing  could  be  more  charming 
or  more  picturesque  than  these  clusters  of  rustic  dwell- 
ings, thatch-covered  for  the  most  part,  surrounded  by 
masses  of  flowers  and  foliage,  and  looking  out  upon  the 
expanse  of  deep  blue  sea,  the  surface  of  which  is  rarely 
ruffled. 

The  traveller  sat  down  a  few  paces  from  the  shore, 
and  his  eyes  looked  out  with  a  lingering  wistlulness  over 
the  space  which  lay  between  him  and  the  far-off  horizon. 
After  having  observed  the  cabins,  the  fishing-boats,  and 
the  children  picking  up  shells  at  the  low-water  mark,  he 
began  to  wonder  to  whom  he  should  address  himself  for 
needed  information.  The  simplest  course  was  to  pro- 
ceed to  the  posada*  before  the  door  of  which  several 
muleteers  were  whiling  away  the  time  till  supper  in 
friendly  chat. 

The  traveller  entered  the  inn-parlor,  which  was  per- 
meated with  a  strong  odor  of  garlic  and  allspice.  He 
ordered  a  modest  repast,  and  while  it  was  being  served, 
questioned  the  attendant. 

"  To  whom  must  I  apply  concerning  the  hire  of  a  little 
house  which  I  saw  upon  the  strand,  and  which  appeared 
unoccupied  ?" 

*  Inn. 


136  THE   MONK'S  PARDON. 

"It  is  not  to  rent,  Sefior,"  said  the  young  girl. 

"  For  sale,  then,  perchance  ?" 

"  But,  Holy  Virgin  of  Saragossa,  who  would  dream  oi 
living  there  ?" 

"Is  it  unhealthy?" 

"If. that  were  all!" 

"  What  then  ?" 

"  It  is  haunted." 

"  By  thieves  ?" 

"  By  ghosts." 

"  That  would  necessarily  lower  the  rent." 

"  Thou  wouldst  still  think  of  living  there  ?" 

"  Why  not  ?" 

"  Thou  hast  no  fear  of  ghosts,  Sefior  ?" 

"I  fear  men  much  more." 

The  young  girl  crossed  herself  devoutly,  as  she  went 
on. 

"  There  are  spots  of  blood  in  the  house." 

The  traveller  shuddered,  but  nevertheless  said: 

"  The  situation  of  the  house  pleases  me.  Knowestthou 
to  whom  it  belongs  ?" 

"  Oh,  thou  needst  not  disturb  thyself.  Thou  art  not 
from  Valencia  as  one  can  see  by  thine  accent.  Other- 
wise thou  wouldst  know  that  the  old  fool  Milagro  comes 
every  day  through  the  great  avenue  of  trees  between 
Valencia  and  Grao.  Milagro  owns  that  dwelling.  Thou 
needst  not  speak  of  hire  to  him,  for  he  will  rather  pay 
thee  to  remain  there.  He  will  then  believe  that  some 
one  deems  him  innocent." 

"  Of  what  was  he  accused  ?" 

"  Of  the  murder  of  his  wife!" 

The  traveller  started  to  his  feet. 

"  Ah,"  cried  the  young  girl,  "  I  knew  I  would  fill  thee, 
too,  with  horror.  Stop,  here  is  he  whom  thou  seekest. 


THE  HAUNTED   HOUSE.  137 

He  is  pale  enough,  as  if  the  devil  had  breathed  in  his  face. 
He  has  come,  as  he  does  each  day,  to  know  if  I  have  found 
an  inmate  for  his  house.  To-day  I  will  let  thee  answer." 

An  old  man,  bowed  down  by  age,  was,  in  fact,  just 
then  advancing  towards  the  posada.  His  hair  was  white, 
his  form  bent,  his  expression  restless,  piercing,  and  hard, 
his  mouth,  contracted,  had  bitter  lines  at  its  corners.  A 
pointed  beard  terminated  the  strange,  angular,  fierce,  and 
almost  repulsive  countenance.  Seeing  him,  the  traveller 
who  desired  to  rent  a  dwelling  at  Las,  Cabafias  could  not 
repress  a  shudder.  An  instinctive  aversion  caused  him 
to  shrink  from  contact  with  the  new-comer;  but,  as  if 
some  thought  of  mercy  had  suddenly  arisen  within  him, 
he  advanced  to  where  Milagro  stood.  The  latter  had 
been  so  long  unaccustomed  to  be  treated  like  other  men, 
that  observing  this  movement  on  the  part  of  the  traveller, 
his  face  lit  up  with  something  that  was  almost  joy. 

"Thou  art  not  of  Valencia?"  said  he,  accepting  the 
goblet  which  the  traveller  held  out  to  him ;  "  thou  art  from 
Grenada,  as  thy  speech  betrays.  If  thou  wert  of  Valencia, 
— well,  in  short,  I  am  Milagro.  Thou  dost  not  Icoow  that 
I  am  old  Milagro." 

"Thou  art  wrong,  I  do  know!"  said  the  traveller. 

Milagro  timidly  resumed  his  seat.  This  humble  move- 
ment touched  the  traveller.  He  took  the  flagon  of  Ali- 
cante, which  stood  before  him,  and  refilling  Milagro's 
goblet,  said: 

"After  we  have  drunk,  we  will  come  to  business." 

"  Business!"  repeated  Milagro,  "what  wouldst  thou  of 
me?" 

"  I  want  to  rent  thy  house  at  a  modest  rate." 

"  Rent  the  haunted  house,"  said  Milagro,  trembling  in 
every  limb.  "  Art  thou  serious  in  thine  offer  ?  Thou 
art  not  of  Valencia,  otherwise —  To  live  in  that  house! 


138  THE  MONK'S   PARDON. 

The  people  hereabouts  declare  that  never,  never  shall 
those  stains  be  washed  away!" 

"  Name  thy  price,"  said  the  traveller. 

"  Twenty  ducats  a  year,  Sefior.  If  that  is  too  much, 
say  so.  Twenty  ducats;  or  nineteen,  if  thou  thinkest 
twenty  too  much.  I  am  not  rich!  My  goods  were  con- 
fiscated. A  trial  costs  money!" 

"  Be  it  so,"  said  the  traveller.  "  I  will  pay  thee  twenty 
ducats." 

"  Twenty  ducats  without  making  any  repairs,"  cried 
the  old  man  in  delight.  "Thou  art  a  true  caballero. 
When  wouldst  thou  take  possession  ?" 

"  This  very  day!" 

"  There  is  nothing  easier,  nothing  easier.  If  thou  art 
not  fastidious  there  is  some  furniture  in  the  house." 

"  I  am  not  fastidious,"  said  the  traveller. 

He  took  out  his  purse  as  he  spoke  and  gave  Milagro 
twenty  golden  ducats. 

"  I  can  trust  thee  !"  said  Milagro,  "  thy  face  inspires 
confidence.  I  will  sign  thee  a  receipt  for  a  year's  rent. 
In  whose  name  shall  I  make  it  out  ?" 

A  cloud  passed  over  the  stranger's  face. 

"  In  the  name  of  Alfonso  Ridalto,"  he  said. 

The  old  man  procured  a  sheet  of  parchment  and  a 
pen,  and  wrote  out  the  receipt  in  a  trembling  hand. 
When  he  had  delivered  it  to  the  tenant  of  the  haunted 
house  he  added  slowly  and  with  some  hesitation: 

"I  will  conduct  thee  thither  and  open  the  doors  for 
thee.  I  keep  the  keys  always  about  me.  What  a  state 
it  must  be  in  since — " 

He  did  not  finish,  but  led  the  way  out  of  the posada. 

The  serving-woman,  Pepita,  crossed  herself  as  she 
passed  the  rash  being  who  had  rented  the  accursed  house 
in  the  village  of  Las  Cabafias. 


THE  HAUNTED   HOUSE.  139 

Milagro  silently  led  the  way  thither,  his  tenant  follow- 
ing. In  front  of  the  haunted  house  was  a  garden  or 
rather  a  copsewood  of  myrtle  and  pomegranate  trees. 
The  branches  had  sprouted  here  and  there  with  the  un- 
restrained but  charming  disorder  produced  by  great  con- 
fused masses  of  trees.  The  paths  were  so  overgrown 
with  long  thick  grass  as  to  be  indistinguishable;  the 
walls  were  covered  with  yellow  and  white  jasmine  or 
clusters  of  roses;  luxuriant  vines  formed,  as  it  were,  a 
lace-work,  twining  now  upwards,  now  downwards,  in  a 
cascade  of  flowers  and  foliage,  which  had  somewhat 
the  effect  of  a  moving  curtain.  This  desolate  house, 
upon  which  a  seal  of  horror  had  been  set  by  a  long- 
past  crime,  had,  nevertheless,  its  own  charm  and  its  own 
beauty.  Ridalto,  as  the  traveller  had  called  himself  to 
Milagro,  could  not  help  rejoicing  at  the  thought  that  the 
superstition  of  the  country  folk  would  transform  this 
dwelling  into  a  hermitage.  When  the  door  was  opened 
he  found  that  the  interior  was  in  perfect  accord  with  the 
exterior.  The  bars  once  taken  from  the  window,  Ridalto 
beheld  great  massive  pieces  of  furniture  of  an  almost 
monumental  character,  carved  in  solid  wood  by  Flemish 
artists,  besides  some  costly  cabinets  in  polished  Indian 
woods,  inlaid  with  amber  or  silver.  Whilst  Milagro  was 
letting  air  and  light  into  the  long-disused  apartments  he 
seemed  extremely  nervous  and  agitated.  The  furniture 
was  thickly  covered  with  dust,  and  the  tapestries  hung 
here  and  there  in  tatters;  the  whole  aspect  of  the  place 
was  at  once  grand  and  funereal.  As  Ridalto  had  judged 
from  the  exterior,  the  house  was  not  very  large.  The 
vestibule,  decorated  with  that  imperishable  stucco-work 
of  which  we  have  lost  the  secret,  opened  upon  the  draw- 
ing-room, into  which  Milagro  led  the  stranger.  A  retiro* 

*  Boudoir. 


140  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

adorned  with  colored  glass  came  next;  the  chairs  were 
covered  with  Cordova  leather  like  the  hangings;  one 
the  panels  was  occupied  by  a  painting  of  Roelas,* 
and  oddly  in  keeping  with  the  rest  a  faded  bouquet 
displayed  its  dusty  petals  upon  a  table  laden  with 
books. 

"  Those  were  roses,"  said  Milagro,  "  roses  which  I  used 
to  cultivate  in  the  garden  for  her — " 

On  the  other  side  of  the  vestibule  was  a  room  hung 
with  brocaded  tapestries  of  faded  blue.  A  great  bed 
occupied  the  centre  of  it;  upon  a  console  table,  in  large 
vases  of  Arabic  pattern,  dating  from  the  time  of  the 
Moorish  domination,  were  more  withered  flowers.  The 
counterpane  and  a  mat  dragged  out  of  its  place  were  the 
only  symptoms  of  a  confusion  which  none  had  ever  dared 
or  desired  to  repair.  On  the  floor  were  spots  of  a  dark 
brown  color,  which  time  had  been  powerless  to  efface. 
Seeing  these  Ridalto  remembered  Pepita's  story. 

The  old  man  stood  motionless  upon  the  threshold. 

"The  library  is  farther  on,"  he  said. 

Ridalto  followed  him  therein,  and  saw  that  on  eithei 
side  were  shelves  laden  with  innumerable  volumes. 

"  I  shall  not  be  lonesome  here,"  he  thought. 

Two  or  three  other  unimportant  rooms  and  a  garden 
yet  more  tangled  than  the  one  in  front,  completed  this 
singular  habitation. 

"  Thou  dost  not  regret  thy  bargain  ?"  said  Milagro. 

*Juan  de  las  Roelas,  a  Spanish  painter  of  the  Andalusian  school, 
who  brought  into  his  country  the  rich  coloring  of  which  he  had  learned 
the  secret  in  the  schools  of  Rome  and  Venice.  Over  the  high  altar 
of  San  Isidor  is  his  largest  work,  The  Death  of  the  Archbishop  of 
Seville.  It  covers  the  whole  altar  screen.  It  is  divided  into  two 
parts,  heaven  and  earth,  and  was  the  first  of  that  style  of  composition 
afterwards  common  in  that  school.  He  lived  1558  to  1625. 


THE   HAUNTED   HOUSE.  141 

"  Nay,  not  at  all,"  replied  Ridalto. 

"And,"  said  the  old  man  with  considerable  hesitation, 
"  thou  wilt  permit  me  sometimes,  though  it  be  but  rarely, 
for  I  shall  not  be  importunate,  to  come  hither." 

"  Yea,  surely,"  said  Ridalto  with  an  effort  to  conquer 
the  invincible  repugnance  with  which  Milagro  inspired 
him. 

"  Thou  wilt  not  live  here  alone  ?"  said  the  old  man. 

"Quite  alone  !"  replied  Ridalto. 

"  And  thy  errands  ?" 

"  I  shall  do  them  myself." 

"  Thy  meals  ?" 

"  I  will  prepare  them  likewise." 

"So!  but  if  thou  shouldst  need  assistance — perchance, 
a  guide  in  Valencia,  I  know  the  town  well;  I  was  born 
there,  I  hope  to  die  there.  If  thou  hast  need  of  me — " 

"  For  information,  yes." 

"  I  am  at  thy  service.  In  our  country  we  often  use 
the  meaningless  phrase,  A  la  disposition  de  usted;*  it  is  a 
mere  formula  with  no  significance.  But  with  me  it  is 
different.  What  little  I  can  do  I  will  do  joyfully.  If 
thou  wert  from  Valencia  perchance  thou  wouldst  reject 
my  advances;  but  as  thou  art  from  Grenada — " 

"  Canst  thou  procure  me  clay,  marble,  a  chisel  ?" 

"To-morrow.  I  will  send  thee  these  things  by  an  un- 
happy man  who  has  lately  come  out  of  the  presidio"  f 

Ridalto  made  an  involuntary  gesture,  the  import  of 
which  Milagro  fully  seized. 

"He  is  an  honest  fellow,  this  Jose,"  said  he,  "he  was 
unfortunate.  What  wouldst  thou  ?  He  underwent  his 
punishment;  there  is  naught  to  be  said  against  him." 

*At  your  disposition,  or  at  your  service, 
f  Jail,  prison. 


143  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

By  a  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling,  Ridalto  said: 
"I  will  be  grateful  to  thee  if  thou  sendest  him  hither." 
The  old  man  then  took  leave  with  new  protestations 
of  devotion. 

Next  day,  thanks  to  the  zeal  of  Jos6  whose  worth  Mi- 
lagro  had  not  exaggerated,  the  haunted  house  consider- 
ably improved  its  appearance.  A  few  nails  repaired  the 
tapestries,  the  dust  disappeared  from  the  furniture,  the 
light  penetrated  the  rooms  through  wide-opened  win- 
dows, and  even  the  tangled  foliage  of  the  gardens  was 
reduced  to  something  like  order. 

The  largest  room  was  transformed  into  a  studio  with 
easels,  tools,  clay,  and  other  artist's  materials,  and  Ridalto 
was  soon  at  work.  He  rose  at  dawn  and  chisel  in  hand 
worked  nearly  all  day.  He  attempted  nothing  on  a  large 
scale,  whether  it  was  from  distrust  of  himself  or  because 
he  found  the  disposing  of  statuettes  more  convenient. 
He  created  exquisite  groups,  wherein  the  Virgin  Mother 
held  her  dying  Son  upon  her  knees,  saints  in  an  ecstacy 
of  prayer,  or  martyrs  undergoing  torment.  The  inspira- 
tion of  Ridalto  seemed  full  of  deep  piety  and  ardent 
mysticism.  His  works  showed  him  to  be  one  who  prayed 
much  and  who  had  suffered  much..  The  creations  of 
artists  or  authors  are  not  altogether  the  children  of  their 
imagination,  the  heart  has  as  large  a  share  in  their  in- 
spiration as  the  intellect.  Our  passions  have  as  much 
influence  upon  our  works  as  our  genius,  and  are  often 
their  chief  sources  of  inspiration. 

But  who  could  guess  what  deep  wellspring  of  sorrow 
flowed  through  Ridalto's  silent  and  desolate  soul  ?  As  he 
had  declared  to  Milagro,  he  lived  alone.  Occupied  with 
his  work,  absorbed  in  his  own  memories,  he  sufficed  to 
himself.  He  had  not  even  curiosity  enough  to  visit  the 
town  which  lay  near  to  the  village  of  Las  Cabafias.  He 


THE   HAUNTED   HOUSE.  143 

went  from  his  dwelling  to  Grao  but  no  farther.  Some- 
times as  he  watched  the  vessels  dancing  upon  the  blue 
waves,  he  asked  himself  if  he  might  not  find  happiness 
in  going  far,  far  away  to  those  new  worlds  which  for  two 
centuries  had  belonged  to  Spain,  and  there  live  forgetful 
of  men  and  forgotten  by  them.  He  sometimes  wrote, 
and  Jose  while  keeping  him  informed  of  the  departure  of 
messengers  for  Madrid,  sometimes  brought  him  letters. 

Three  months  had  passed  since  Ridalto  set  foot  in  the 
village  of  Las  Cabafias.  He  often  saw  old  Milagro  pass 
the  window,  stop  an  instant  before  the  garden  gate, 
hesitate  as  if  he  would  fain  have  entered  the  house, 
and,  withheld  by  some  indefinable  feeling  of  mingled 
shyness  and  grief,  go  slowly  on  his  way. 

One  morning  as  Ridalto  was  busy  painting,  according 
to  the  custom  of  the  time,  and  with  the  delicacy  of  a 
miniature,  a  wooden  statue  he  had  just  completed,  he  saw 
Milagro  as  usual  pass  the  window.  A  feeling  of  com- 
passion suddenly  sprung  up  within  him  for  this  forsaken 
old  man. 

"After  all,"  said  he,  "the  law  acquitted  him  of  the 
crime  for  which  he  was  imprisoned.  Therefore  we 
should  regard  him  as  innocent,  and  to  act  as  if  we 
thought  him  otherwise  is  cruelty.  If  any  one  has  a  right 
to  condemn  him  and  shun  his  society,  surely  it  is  not  I, 
it  is  not  I." 

And  opening  the  door  he  called  Milagro. 

The  ice  was  broken. 

Thenceforth  Milagro  came  every  day  to  spend  a  few 
moments  at  least  in  the  haunted  house.  He  admired 
Ridalto's  talent.  Like  most  Spaniards,  he  had  more 
than  a  tolerable  knowledge  of  art,  and  Ridalto  began  to 
find  in  his  conversation  a  repose  from  his  incessant 
labors.  The  old  man  pointed  out  to  him  the  means  by 


144  THE   MONK'S   PARDON. 

which  he  might  dispose  of  his  statuettes  to  enlightened 
and  generous  men.  In  course  of  time  Ridalto  achieved 
great  success.  He  could  have  made  double  the  sum  if 
he  had  not  with  strange  moroseness  declined  all  private 
relations  with  merchants,  traders,  or  connoisseurs,  and 
so  gained  the  reputation  of  being  unsociable  and  misan- 
thropic. 

As  a  rest  from  carving,  he  procured  canvases  and 
painted  interiors  which  were  not  realistic  but  real,  or 
sain  is,  virgins,  and  martyrs  of  incomparable  beauty,  and 
to  which  there  was  but  one  drawback,  a  certain  resem- 
blance amongst  them  all.  They  were  surely  similar  in 
kind,  these  earthly  creatures,  raised  by  faith  to  Heaven. 

The  most  sincere  admirers  of  Ridalto's  paintings  de- 
clared, that  while  possessed  of  a  great  fertility  in  com- 
position the  artist  had  this  defect,  that  he  had  chosen 
one  type  of  womanhood,  to  which  he  made  all  others 
subservient.  But  this  slight  drawback  did  not  prevent 
his  works  from  bringing  a  good  price.  The  winter 
passed  slowly.  In  the  evenings  around  the  brasero*  be- 
fore the  blaze  of  the  olive  nuts,  Ridalto  and  Milagro  sat, 
often  in  profound  silence;  both  were  self-contained  and 
full  of  some  absorbing  memory.  But  though  they  spoke 
little  they  found  a  curious  sort  of  relief  in  ea^JL  other's 
society.  Never  had  Milagro  asked  Ridalto  a  single 
question  as  to  his  past;  never  did  Ridalto  siek  to  raise 
the  veil  which  had  fallen  upon  Milagro's  nw.mories. 

When  the  fine  weather  came  the  artist,  weary  perhaps 
of  Grao,  determined  at  length  to  traverse  the  long  avenue 
of  ancient  trees  which  separated  it  from  Valencia. 

Truly,  beholding  the  magnificent  country  which  sur- 
rounds this  town,  one  acknowledges  with  what  justice 

*  Brazier  or  grate. 


THE  HAUNTED   HOUSE.  145 

poets  have  so  enthusiastically  celebrated  this  rich  and 
luxuriant  Huerta;  the  marvellous  climate  and  the  beauty 
so  full  of  a  subtle  charm  which  belongs  to  Valencia,  and 
is  only  equalled  by  the  Vega  of  Grenada. 

Lucio  Siculo  calls  it  "  the  miracle  of  nature,"  Piralta  the 
"terrestrial  Paradise,"  and  Mariana*  "the  Elysian  Fields." 
In  truth,  there  could  be  nothing  more  exquisite  than  this 
town,  which  retains  all  the  grandeur  of  a  large  city,  though 
shut  in  by  high  walls  with  eight  monumental  gates.  Its 
narrow  and  somewhat  irregular  streets  seem,  as  it  were, 
a  network,  surrounding  the  great  wonder  of  Valencia, 
its  cathedral. 

Ridalto  was  too  true  an  artist  not  to  admire  this  monu- 
ment raised  upon  the  ruins  of  an  ancient  mosque.  To 
efface  all  recollection  of  the  Arabic  architecture  with  its 
pagan  grace,  the  Gothic  predominated  in  the  new  struc- 
ture. The  different  epochs  at  which  improvements  had 
been  made  left  their  traces  upon  the  monument,  where 
each  addition  bears  a  d.fferent  date.  Ridalto  prostrated 
himself  before  the  altar  with  deep  fervor.  The  Christian 
for  the  time  being  overcame  the  artist  curious  as  to  an- 
tique remains.  However,  when  he  had  prayed,  he  rose 
and  admired  the  magnificence  of  the  altar  of  serpentine 
marble,  with  ornamentations  of  solid  gold. 

The  paintings  of  the  high  altar,  and  those  in  the  lateral 
chapels,  were  all  by  well-known  artists.  Ridalto  exam- 
ined them  each  with  real  admiration,  which  reached  its 
culminating  point  when  he  entered  the  sacristy  and  beheld 
there  one  of  Murillo's  finest  efforts. 

The  sacristan  then  opened  the  relic  closet  and  showed 
Ridalto  some  of  the  most  precious  relics  in  Spain:  the 
shirt  of  the  infant  Jesus;  the  comb  of  His  mother;  the 

*  All  three  Spanish  poets  and  writers. 


146  THE   MONK'S   PARDON. 

chalice  which  our  Saviour  used  at  the  Last  Supper;  and 
the  skeleton  of  one  of  the  Holy  Innocents. 

Ridalto  remained  in  mournful  meditation  for  some 
moments  before  these  holy  things.  When  he  left  the 
cathedral  he  was  calmed  and  consoled. 

Next  day  he  described  his  journey  to  Milagro,  and  the 
impression  it  had  made  upon  him. 

"  Didst  thou  enter  the  chapel  of  San  Salvador?"  asked 
Milagro. 

"  No,"  said  the  artist. 

"  Thou  wert  wrong.  In  that  church  is  the  camarin 
Containing  a  Christ  more  than  life  size,  the  head  of  which 
^s  truly  grand.  What  would  perchance  strike  thee  as 
less  artistic,  is  the  abundant  brown  hair  and  the  thick 
teeard  covering  the  chest." 

"  What  is  the  origin  of  this  statue  ?"  asked  Ridalto. 

"  There  is  no  certainty  as  to  its  origin,"  said  Milagro; 
'but  I  will  repeat  what  the  sacristan  told  me:  Some- 
where about  1250  some  ships  brought  this  curious  work 
of  art  to  Grao.  An  altar  of  solid  silver  was  erected  for  it 
at  Valencia,  and  upon  this  was  placed  the  statue,  between 
two  candlesticks  of  the  same  precious  metal.  The  beard, 
which  is  an  object  of  admiration  to  all  the  faithful,  has 
grown  since  the  Christ  received  the  homage  of  the  peo- 
ple of  San  Salvador." 

"I  must  visit  the  chapel,"  said  Ridalto,  smiling, 
"though  I  confess  that  the  hair  and  beard,  added  by 
Spanish  taste  to  religious  statues,  seem  to  me  objection- 
able enough." 

"  Yes,  thou  art  right,"  said  Milagro.  "  But  what 
wouldst  thou  ?  All  artists  cannot  endow  their  works 
with  the  admirable  sentiment  which  distinguishes  thine; 
if  they  do  not  strike  near  the  mark,  they  strike  hard. 
And,  after  all,  the  faith  which  makes  the  people  kneel  be- 


THE   HAUNTED   HOUSE.  147 

fore  such  statues  is  none  the  less  agreeable  to  God.  In 
fact  its  simplicity  gives  it  new  value." 

Gradually  Ridalto  became  accustomed  to  the  society 
of  old  Milagro;  each  felt  that  the  other  had  a  secret,  but 
each  respected  the  other's  sorrow.  Sometimes  the  painter 
revolted  at  thought  of  the  relations  existing  between 
Milagro  and  himself,  but  he  always  ended  by  proving 
himself  in  the  wrong,  saying: 

"  If  he  came  not  here,  who  would  enter  this  house  .*" 

It  is  certain  that,  owing  to  the  great  success  with  which 
the  works  of  Ridalto  had  met,  it  would  have  been  easy 
for  him  to  make  any  new  connections  he  wished  at 
Valencia;  but  to  the  advances  which  had  been  made  to 
him  he  responded  with  so  much  coldness  that  his  warm- 
est admirers  considered  him  morose  and  unsociable. 

One  summer  evening,  which  was  more  sultry  even 
than  the  most  sultry  days  of  Spain,  a  storm  of  unusual 
violence  burst  over  the  village  of  Las  Cabafias.  The 
heavens,  overcast  by  thick  clouds,  were  rent  asunder  by 
streaks  of  jagged  lightning;  the  rumblings  of  thunder 
struck  terror  into  the  hearts  of  the  people;  the  waves 
upon  the  shore,  usually  so  blue  and  peaceful,  rushed 
mountain  high  upon  the  bank,  dashing  the  vessels  to- 
gether, and  putting  seamen  exposed  to  their  fury  in 
imminent  peril  of  death.  It  would  seem  as  if  some  ter« 
rible  cataclysm  was  about  to  annihilate  this  corner  of  thd 
earth.  Flashes  of  lightning  succeeded  each  other  un- 
interruptedly; dull  rumblings  were  heard  in  the  neigh- 
boring Sierras;  the  people  prayed  shut  up  in  their  houses, 
and  the  chapel  of  Grao  was  crowded  with  suppliants 
sending  up  vows  to  the  Madonna. 

As  the  storm  began  Milagro  was  on  the  point  of  leav- 
ing Ridalto;  the  latter  would  not,  however,  permit  that 
his  visitor  should  depart  in  weather  so  dangerous,  and 


148  THE   MONK'S   PARDON. 

he  insisted  on  him  remaining  to  share  his  modest  repast. 
Jos£.  the  hapless  Jos6,  the  former  inmate  of  the  presidio, 
had  given  so  many  proofs  of  attachment  to  Ridalto,  that 
he  had  at  last  taken  him  into  his  service. 

The  poor  lad  was  not  naturally  bad;  in  a  moment  of 
anger  he  had  struck  his  adversary  with  a  knife  which  he 
held  in  his  hand.  Jos6  was  cast  into  prison.  Fortunately 
for  him  his  late  adversary  did  not  die,  and  his  resent- 
ment having  abated,  he  at  once  asked  for  Jose,  first  a 
mitigation  of  sentence,  and  finally  a  full  pardon  through 
the  intervention  of  influential  gentlemen  in  whose  service 
he  was.  His  generosity  and  perseverance  were  rewarded, 
and  Jose  was  set  at  liberty,  and  was  free  to  choose  an 
honest  life. 

Jose  was  well  pleased  with  his  new  master,  Ridalto, 
and  often  repeated  that  he  would  never  leave  him  unless 
to  marry  Merced,  the  sister  of  him  whom  he  had  so 
nearly  killed.  Jose  did  everything  himself  at  the  haunted 
house,  and  from  the  order  reigning  there  it  might  be 
supposed  that  there  were  three  servants  to  do  the  work. 

Milagro,  after  a  faint  attempt  at  refusal,  accepted  the 
artist's  hospitality.  He  seemed  at  once  glad  and  fright- 
ened at  the  prospect  of  remaining  in  that  house.  Was 
it  the  storm  which  made  him  so  nervous  and  excitable  ? 
His  countenance  reflected  its  every  terrible  phase,  each 
passing  over  his  face  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning.  The 
electricity  in  the  air  had  evidently  affected  his  nerves; 
the  veins  of  his  forehead  swelled,  his  eyes  shone  with  a 
dull  fire,  or  sometimes  grew  so  dim  that  it  would  seem 
their  light  was  extinguished  forever.  Now  he  was  silent 
for  long  intervals,  or  again  he  discoursed  with  astonish- 
ing volubility,  as  if  afraid  of  his  own  thoughts. 

The  meal  was  short,  yet  Milagro,  to  keep  up  his  flag- 
ging courage,  emptied  a  whole  flagon  of  Alicante. 


THE   HAUNTED   HOUSE.  149 

Far  from  abating,  the  storm  seemed  to  redouble  its 
fury.  Ridalto  was  about  to  call  for  lights  when  Milagro 
begged  him  to  desist. 

"  For  me  the  shadow,"  he  said  ;  "  the  shadow  for  me." 

And  throwing  himself  into  an  arm-chair  he  shuddered 
at  every  peal  of  thunder  and  every  flash  of  lightning. 

Meanwhile  Ridalto  seemed  wrapped  in  some  gloomy 
thought. 

"Thou  art  praying,  art  thou  not?"  asked  Milagro 
suddenly. 

"  I  pray  for  consolation." 

"  I  cannot  pray  ;  I  cannot  pray,"  cried  Milagro  with  a 
groan. 

"Wherefore  canst  thou  not  pray?"  asked  Ridalto. 

The  old  man  shook  his  head. 

"  God  would  not,  He  could  not  hear  me,"  he  said 
moodily. 

"Ah,"  said  Ridalto,  "even  through  the  tumult  of  this 
storm  He  hears  a  child's  voice." 

"  No,"  said  Milagro,  with  a  certain  desolate  persistency. 
"  When  I  have  tried  to  call  upon  Him,  my  voice,  full  of 
tears  as  it  was,  was  always  drowned  by  a  noise,  a  slight 
noise.  Hearest  thou  it  not  ?"  he  added,  with  growing 
horror.  "  It  is  faint ;  faint.  Drops  falling  one  by  one 
upon  the  floor.  Hearken  ;  and  dost  thou  not  perceive  a 
strange  odor  in  this  room  ?" 

"It  is  the  sulphurous  vapor  in  the  atmosphere,"  said 
Ridalto. 

"Nay,  nAy  ;  not  that.  But  a  vague,  sickening,  ener- 
vating smell — the  odor  of  blood  ;  blood  ever  flowing." 

"  Hush,  hush,"  cried  Ridalto  ;  "  thy  words  are  terrible." 

"They  are  within  me  ;  they  stifle  me  ;  they  choke  me. 
Ah,  how  the  lightning  burns  my  eyes!  Dost  thou  not 
see  by  its  glare  a  figure  advancing  towards  us?" 


150  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

"No,  no!  thou  art  crazed,  Milagro ;  these  hallucina- 
tions proceed  from  the  storm.  Be  calm  ;  kneel  and  pray 
if  thou  art  suffering  or  in  terror,  but  yield  not  thyself  to 
"hese  phantoms  of  thy  imagination." 

"This  imagination  is  called  conscience,"  said  Milagro. 
*'I  would  speak,  and  I  must  speak,  even  though  thou 
Irivest  me  hence.  Yet  this  secret  should  die  with  me 
forever,  forever  ;  and  be  known  only  to  hell,  which  urged 
me  to  the  crime." 

Milagro  appeared  to  have  lost  all  control  of  himself  ; 
his  every  movement  showed  a  mind  whose  equilibrium 
was  upset. 

"Just  such  a  storm  was  raging,"  he  said  ;  "  the  thunder 
roared  with  the  same  fury  on  the  night  of  the  murder, 
the  night  of  blood.  I  was  intoxicated  with  rage  ;  the 
knife  was  beside  me  ;  it  gleamed  in  the  darkness  by  the 
glare  of  the  lightning.  I  know  not  what  she  said  ;  it 
must  have  been  something  terrible,  for  my  reason  de- 
serted me.  I  sprung  upon  her  like  a  wild  beast,  and 
struck  her.  Ever  since  I  hear  the  blood  dropping  from 
her  wound,  as  it  dropped  then,  and  made  that  ugly  stain, 
which  all  the  water  in  the  sea  can  not  wash  out." 

When  he  had  made  this  fearful  revelation  Milagro 
threw  himself  upon  the  ground  and  knocked  his  nead 
repeatedly  against  the  spot  stained  with  blood.  He  re- 
mained a  long  time  motionless.  A  clap  of  thunder  more 
violent  than  any  yet  shook  the  haunted  house  to  its 
foundations;  the  lightning  struck  one  of  the  trees  of  the 
garden,  while  a  cry  of  agony  from  Milagro  redoubled 
the  horror  of  the  scene. 

Ridalto  ran  to  raise  the  old  man,  and  found  that  he 
had  fainted.  Then,  taking  him  in  his  arms,  he  laid  him 
upon  the  bed.  The  storm  seemed  now  to  have  somewhat 
abated  its  fury;  the  peals  of  thunder  began  to  die  away 


THE   HAUNTED   HOUSE.  1 51 

in  the  distance  ;  the  waves  grew  almost  still ;  and  a  great 
calm  succeeded  the  late  tumult  of  the  elements. 

For  more  than  an  hour  Ridalto  sought  in  vain  to  rouse 
Milagro  to  consciousness.  He  was  just  becoming  seri- 
ously alarmed  when  the  old  man  sighed  deeply  and 
opened  his  bewildered  eyes.  He  looked  feebly  around 
him,  and  raising  himself  upon  his  elbow,  said  : 

"  I  have  spoken  ;  I  have  spoken." 

For  a  moment  the  artist  thought  of  denying  that  he 
had,  and  thus  leaving  the  old  man  in  more  complete 
security,  but  his  frankness  of  character  forbade  such 
prevarication,  and  he  contented  himself  with  saying: 

"What  import  the  delirious  ravings  caused  by  that 
terrible  storm  ?  Besides,  I  was  alone  with  thee." 

"  Ah !"  cried  Milagro,  passing  his  hands  through  his 
hair,  which  was  standing  upright  with  horror,  "there  are 
moments  when  I  am  tempted  to  appear  before  my  judges 
and  say,  'Ye  did  acquit  me  of  the  crime  with  which  I 
was  charged.  I  was  cunning  enough  to  divert  suspicion 
from  myself  by  procuring  a  false  alibi.  My  craft  stood 
me  in  good  stead  against  your  strength,  patience,  and 
justice.  Ye  gave  me  my  liberty.  Well,  take  it  back.  I 
do  not  want  it.  I  confess.  I  prefer  the  presidio  with  its 
garb  of  infamy  and  its  strangling  collar  of  iron  to  the 
life  which  I  lead.'  The  multitude,  more  clear-sighted 
than  the  judges,  did  not  acquit  me  ;  they  condemned 
me,  and  drove  me  from  amongst  them.  At  the  galleys  I 
tould  converse,  at  least,  with  criminals.  Here,  no  man 
will  take  my  hand,  no  child  will  greet  me.  My  very 
contact  seems  to  leave  a  stain.'  " 

"  Hapless  man,"  cried  Ridalto. 

"  I  have  said  that  I  am  often  tempted  to  give  myself 
up,  but  when  it  comes  to  the  point  I  draw  back.  Thou 
*rt  free  to  do  it.  I  will  not  deny  thy  charge.  I  will 


152  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

even  thank  thee  for  having  rendered  me  this  melancholy 
service.  The  weight  that  is  upon  my  heart  must  be 
thrown  off.  I  must  speak  and  cry  out,  'I  have  shed 
blood.' " 

"Sleep  in  peace  to-night  within  the  haunted  house," 
said  Ridalto  gravely;  "  to-morrow  we  shall  consult  as  to 
what  is  best." 

The  artist  remained  for  a  long  time  at  the  old  man's 
side,  even  when  a  restless  sleep  had  closed  his  eyes.  He 
felt  the  deepest  compassion  for  him,  and  the  motion  of 
his  lips  showed  that  he  was  praying. 

Next  morning  the  heavens,  swept  the  night  previous 
by  the  wings  of  the  storm,  shone  out  again  in  all  their 
beauty.  Ridalto  went  into  the  old  man's  room. 

"Wilt  thou  not  arise?"  he  said,  gently. 

"  Yes,"  said  Milagro  ;  "  to  leave  Las  Cabafias." 

"  We  will  go  together,"  said  the  artist. 

"  Together  ?"  repeated  Milagro  with  a  shudder,  "  and 
whither?" 

"To  Valencia." 

The  old  man  shuddered  again,  but  repeated  with  a 
sort  of  despairing  resignation, 

"To  Valencia." 

After  a  light  breakfast  they  both  set  out  from  the 
haunted  house,  and  through  the  avenue  which  led  from 
Grao  to  one  of  the  eight  gates  of  the  city. 

When  they  had  entered  the  town  Ridalto  laid  his  hand 
upon  his  companion's  shoulder  and  exclaimed  : 

"  Thou  saidst  to  me  once  that  I  should  visit  San  Sal- 
vador. Wilt  thou  guide  me  thither?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Milagro  in  surprise. 

After  passing  through  many  intricate  windings  the 
two  men  found  themselves  at  a  church-door. 

"  Here  is  San  Salvador,"  said  Milagro. 


THE   HAUNTED   HOUSE.  I  5$ 

"Let  us  go  in,"  said  Ridalto. 

After  a  hasty  genuflection  the  artist  began  to  examine 
the  architecture  of  the  church  with  critical  attention  ; 
but,  despite  his  interest  in  what  he  saw,  his  mind  seemed 
deeply  occupied  by  some  more  urgent  matter. 

At  length  he  perceived  an  old  priest  coming  down  one 
of  the  aisles  of  the  church.  He  went  hastily  towards 
him. 

"  Father,"  said  he, "  I  have  brought  thee  a  soul  to 
save." 

The  priest  looked  kindly  at  him  and  said,  pointing  to 
the  confessional  : 

"  Its  salvation  is  at  hand." 

In  an  instant  the  priest  was  seated  in  the  confessional. 

In  Spain  the  confessionals  are  quite  unlike  those  of 
France  and  Belgium.  The  priest  alone  is  hidden  from 
the  eyes  of  the  multitude  by  a  curtain.  The  penitent, 
kneeling  upon  the  ground,  makes  his  confession  in  pres- 
ence, so  to  say,  of  the  curious  spectators.  His  fear  or 
his  contrition  is  evident  to  all.  This  mode  of  confessing 
detracts  perhaps  somewhat  from  the  solemnity  of  that 
sublime  mystery  enacted  between  priest  and  penitent ; 
but  at  least  it  proves  that  men  rise  superior  to  human 
respect  in  conforming  themselves  to  the  holy  law  which 
brings  the  penitent  to  the  feet  of  God's  minister. 

The  priest,  once  seated,  hid  his  face  in  his  hands,  and 
recollecting  himself,  asked  of  Heaven  the  grace  and 
unction  necessary  for  his  sacred  ministry.  Meanwhile 
Ridalto  seized  Milagro  by  the  hand  and  said,  urging  him 
forward  with  gentle  force  : 

"  Thou  wouldst  a  tribunal  to  judge  thee,  a  man  to 
hear  thee.  Go,  the  priest  is  there  to  console  and  absolve 
thee." 

Milagro  turned  deadly  pale  ;  he  staggered  and  leaned 


154  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

against  one  of  the  pillars  for  support,  but  at  length,  \\ith 
Ridalto's  help,  he  fell  upon  his  knees  before  the  priest 
and  began  to  sob  out  his  story. 

Meanwhile  Ridalto  prayed  devoutly. 

After  some  time  Milagro  reappeared.  A  complete 
change  had  taken  place  in  him.  His  eyes  were  no  longer 
wild,  but  had  an  humble  and  resigned  expression.  His 
brow  was  calm,  and  the  agitation  habitual  to  his  face 
had  disappeared.  He  brought  Ridalto  into  the  chapel 
of  the  miraculous  statue,  and  there,  wringing  his  hands 
as  if  he  would  break  them,  cried  : 

"Thou  hast  saved  me,  in  this  world  and  the  next." 

When  they  were  outside  the  church  Ridalto  said  : 

"Art  thou  now  willing  to  inhabit  the  haunted  house  ?" 

"  With  thee  ?" 

"With  me." 

"But  I  am  a  pariah,  an  outcast." 

"Thou  art  a  man  upon  whom  has  fallen  the  purifying 
blood  of  Christ,"  said  Ridalto;  "thou  art  my  brother." 

Milagro  wiped  away  his  tears  and  went  home  with 
Ridalto  to  the  village  of  Las  Cabafias. 


THE   SECRET   BETRAYED.  155 


CHAPTER  XI. 
THE  SECRET  BETRAYED. 

THE  dwelling  of  Sefior  Aguidas  was  one  of  the  most 
delightful  in  Valencia.  The  patio*  formed  a  perfect 
flower-garden;  fountains  playing  constantly  kept  the  at- 
mosphere deliciously  cool  and  fresh,  and  streams  pro- 
ceeding thence  under  the  shrubbery  produced  a  moisture 
which  showed  itself  here  and  there  in  the  form  of  light 
mists,  rising  above  the  white-blossomed  orange  trees  or 
purple-flowering  pomegranates. 

The  patio,  with  its  marble  pillars  and  mosaics  of  that 
peculiar  brilliancy,  the  secret  of  which  is  lost  in  our  day, 
contained  many  works  of  art  of  the  rarest  value,  some 
dating  from  the  time  of  the  Moorish  dominion,  others 
brought  at  great  cost  from  Italy,  and  others  again  the 
masterpieces  of  those  who  were  then  making  Spain  the 
greatest  artistic  country.  Low  seats,  divans  covered  with 
Cordova  leather,  separated  the  pillars  or  pedestals,  each 
surmounted  by  busts,  gigantic  vases,  or  graceful  statues. 

All  the  principal  people  of  Valencia,  distinguished 
strangers,  or  travelling  artists,  made  it  a  point  to  visit 
the  dwelling  of  the  Count  Aguidas.  He  received  in 
princely  fashion,  and  his  entertainments  were  renowned 
for  their  magnificence. 

His  wife  was  a  handsome  and  elegant  woman,  whose 
decided  love  for  dress  did  not  exclude  a  cultivated  taste. 

*  A  sort  of  interior  courtyard,  usually  paved  with  marble.  It  has  a 
temporary  cover  for  the  daytime,  which  is  withdrawn  at  night. 


150  THE   MONK'S  PARDON. 

She  had  no  children,  and  being  herself  possessed  of  a  con- 
siderable fortune,  encouraged  her  husband  in  his  desire 
to  increase  the  love  of  the  beautiful  in  his  own  country, 
and  to  worthily  represent  at  Valencia  the  nobility  of 
Spain  so  renowned  in  France  and  in  Flanders  for  its 
munificence. 

Upon  the  particular  evening  of  which  we  speak,  an  un- 
usual number  of  guests  were  assembled  in  the  count's 
drawing-rooms  and  corridors.  Some  of  them  stood 
grouped  together  in  the  patio,  listening  to  a  musician 
playing  Andalusian  airs;  others,  dispersed  through  the 
rooms,  admired  the  splendor  of  their  appointments,  or 
passed  the  time  in  animated  conversation. 

"But,  my  friend,"  said  a  young  man  to  his  host,  "thou 
didst  promise  us  a  surprise  to-night." 

"  Did  I  ever  break  my  word?" 

"Never." 

"  Be  assured,  then,  that  I  shall  not  fail  now." 

"Tell  us  at  least  what  is  the  nature  of  this  surprise." 

"  I  will." 

"Speak!  speak!"  cried  a  dozen  voices. 

"Well,  I  have  simply  discovered  a  great  man." 

"In  Valencia?"  asked  the  Marquis  Juar6z. 

"  Yes,  or  rather  in  the  village  of  Las  Cabafias." 

"  Who  is  he?" 

"  One  of  the  first  artists  of  Spain." 

A  murmur  of  incredulity  arose  among  the  group.  But 
Count  Aguidas  only  smiled  confidently,  and  said: 

"  I  repeat  what  I  have  said,  this  man  is  one  of  the 
greatest  artists  of  Spain." 

"Count,"  said  the  Marquis  Juar6z,  "such  testimony 
from  thee  is  a  brevet  of  genius." 

"  Like  all  who  make  an  important  discovery,  I  find 
myself  singularly  doubtful  of  the  result,"  said  Aguidas. 


THE   SECRET   BETRAYED.  157 

"  To  find  in  a  man,  so  modest  that  he  dreads  the  fame 
which  hie  works  necessarily  win,  varied  knowledge  com- 
bined with  the  rarest  inspiration,  is  something  so  mar- 
vellous that  I  never  heard  the  like.  Presently  I  shall 
call  upon  you  to  confirm  me  in  my  judgment,  or  to 
combat  it,  if  ye  think  me  the  dupe  of  my  own  admira- 
tion." 

"  What  is  this  man's  name?" 

"  Ridalto." 

"A  name  quite  unknown." 

"  Where  doth  he  abide?"  asked  the  marquis. 

"  In  a  dwelling  which  any  person  in  Valencia  would 
refuse  to  inhabit — the  haunted  house." 

A  shudder  passed  through  the  group  surrounding 
Aguidas,  for  all  present  remembered  the  terrible  drama 
enacted  there. 

"  Probably  this  Ridalto  is  unaware  of  what  took  place 
in  that  house." 

"  The  more  probable  since  he  is  said  to  be  on  friendly 
terms  with  Milagro." 

"  But,"  said  the  marquis,  "  thou  hast  not  told  us  how 
thou  didst  discover  this  strange  being." 

"One  day  I  was  passing  Abraham's  shop,"  said  Agui- 
das, "  and  though  I  care  not  to  cross  the  threshold — for  I 
much  misdoubt  me  that  this  dealer  remaineth  in  his 
heart  attached  to  the  faith  of  his  fathers,  and  hath  but 
abjured  to  save  his  life — I  paused  an  instant  to  look  at  an 
antique  of  Arabic  device,  when  a  statue  of  wood  attracted 
my  attention.  Carved  with  exquisite  grace,  and  painted 
with  rare  perfection,  it  really  united,  in  an  equal  degree, 
perfection  of  form  and  power  of  conception.  It  was 
small,  and  yet  it  had  about  it  a  style  usually  seen  in 
much  larger  works.  I  was  so  charmed  with  it  that  I  en- 


158  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

tered  Abraham's  shop  and  bought  it  at  his  own  price, 
asking  the  old  Jew  the  name  of  the  artist. 

"  He  showed  me  upon  the  base  the  name  of  Ridalto, 
and  declared  that  he  knew  nothing  more,  adding,  how- 
ever, that  if  I  wished  he  could  discover  the  artist's 
whereabouts. 

"  In  a  fortnight  I  returned  to  the  Jew.  This  time  he 
led  me  to  a  picture,  and  showed  me  beneath  it  the  same 
name  as  upon  the  statue.  The  drawing  of  this  picture, 
a  Holy  Family,  was  worthy  of  Raphael;  a  soft  light 
color,  marvellously  fresh,  showed  off  the  drawing  to  ad- 
vantage. I  was  amazed,  and  merely  said  to  Abraham: 

"'  Send  me  this  picture.' 

"  He  bowed  in  that  cringing  fashion  peculiar  to  the 
sons  of  Jacob,  and  said  with  a  smile: 

"  '  I  have  some  information  which  may  be  agreeable  to 
your  lordship;  Ridalto  inhabits  the  haunted  house.' 

"'I  thank  thee,'  said  I,  'and  shall  proceed  thither  to- 
morrow.' 

"  '  If  it  be  to  visit  Ridalto,'  said  the  Jew,  '  your  excel- 
lency will  waste  your  time.  He  receives  no  one.' 

"  '  But  an  artist  cannot  live  in  perpetual  solitude.' 

" '  Yet  that  is  what  he  does.' 

" '  Thou  knowest  him  ? ' 

"  '  Nay,  not  at  all.' 

" '  How  then  dost  thou  hold  dealings  with  him?' 

" '  I  never  see  him,'  he  replied.  '  Old  Milagro  brings 
his  works  hither,  and  names  the  price  thereof.  As  he  is  not 
the  proprietor,  I  am  forced  to  accept  the  terms  he  offers. 
I  must  admit  that  Ridalto  is  usually  moderate  enough  in 
his  demands.  If,  instead  of  bearing  as  he  does  an  ob- 
scure name,  he  had  attained  celebrity,  his  pictures  and 
statues  would  be  of  double  value.' 

" '  Ha!  ha!  seest  thou,  Abraham,'  said  I,  laughing, "  I 


THE   SECRET   BETRAYED.  159 

would  fain  be  this  great  man's  Maecenas.  In  six  months' 
time  I  will  have  all  his  works  in  my  gallery,  and  will  give 
a  ball  to  make  them  known  to  the  public.  Next  day 
orders  will  pour  in  upon  the  mysterious  dweller  of  the 
haunted  house.' 

"I  kept  my  word;  all  that  proceeded  from  Ridalto's 
chisel  or  brush  I  purchased.  They  are  here,  and  it  is  to 
judge  of  them  that  I  have  invited  you  here  to-night." 

The  curiosity  of  the  guests  was  redoubled.  Not  only 
were  they  to  see  the  admirable  pictures  and  statues  of 
this  unknown  artist,  but  to  find,  perchance,  some  clue  to 
the  mystery  which  enshrouded  the  mysterious  stranger 
of  Las  Cabafias.  In  a  short  time  their  curiosity  was  grat- 
ified. The  doors  of  the  gallery  were  thrown  wide,  and 
a  flood  of  light  fell  upon  the  patio  below.  The  guests 
now  thronged  that  portion  of  the  gallery  where,  placed 
in  the  most  favorable  lights,  statues  and  pictures  shone 
like  diamonds  in  rich  settings.  The  Count  Aguidas  had 
not  miscalculated  his  protigt's  success;  there  was  a 
unanimous  cry  of  admiration  from  the  assembly,  and  all 
enlarged  upon  the  exquisite  grace  of  the  figures,  the 
brilliancy  of  the  coloring  and  the  variety  of  conception. 

Whilst  the  throng  of  cavaliers  and  ladies  pressed 
around  the  statues  and  canvases,  enthusiastically  ad- 
miring these  prodigies  of  scientific  workmanship  and 
rare  taste,  a  lackey  informed  their  host  that  a  stranger 
desired  the  honor  of  waiting  upon  him,  at  once,  if  it  were 
agreeable  to  him. 

"  Didst  learn  his  name?"  asked  Aguidas. 

"  Yea,  your  excellency,  the  stranger  bade  me  name 
him  Estaban  Murillo." 

Count  Aguidas  uttered  an  exclamation  of  joy. 

"  Murillo  in  Valencia!"  he  cried;  "  Murillo  in  my  house' 
What  good  fortune!" 


160  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

With  an  eagerness  which  greatly  enhanced  the  grace 
and  cordiality  of  his  welcome  to  the  stranger,  Aguidas 
went  in  search  of  him. 

Estaban  Murillo  was  young  and  handsome;  his  black 
eyes,  through  all  their  brilliancy  and  vivacity,  had  a  rare 
depth  and  earnestness  in  them.  His  high,  broad  fore- 
head was  shown  in  all  its  beauty  and  amplitude,  for  his 
long  artist's  locks  fell  over  his  shoulders  in  graceful  dis- 
order. His  mouth  was  thin  and  delicate,  and  surmounted 
by  small  moustachios ;  a  beard,  in  the  fashion  of  the  period, 
completed  the  beauty  of  his  face.  He  wore  a  sombre- 
colored  doublet  slashed  with  violet  velvet,  and  a  heavy 
chain  of  gold,  presented  to  him  by  Philip  IV. 

He  told  the  count  that  he  had  come  to  Valencia  that 
very  morning,  for  the  purpose  of  superintending  the 
hanging  of  one  of  his  pictures  in  the  Cathedral,  and  that 
hearing  of  the  ball  at  the  Aguidas  palace,  he  had  taken 
the  opportunity  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  so  generous 
a  patron  of  art  whose  galleries  were  said  to  contain  rare 
marvels. 

The  count's  reception  of  him  was  ail  that  Murillo 
could  have  desired.  Scarcely  had  his  name  become 
known  to  the  guests  when  the  artist  found  himself  sur- 
rounded by  men  the  most  eminent,  by  titles  or  office,  and 
women  the  most  elegant,  all  curious  to  see  the  author  of 
those  wonderful  creations  which  carry  up  our  minds  to 
Heaven.  After  the  first  excitement  consequent  upon 
Murillo's  arrival  was  over  Aguidas  said: 

"  Be  good  enough  to  look  at  these  works,  statues  and 
pictures,  and,  without  observing  the  signature,  to  give  me 
thy  opinion  as  to  their  value." 

Murillo  slowly  examined  the  statuettes  each  in  turn. 
As  he  looked  his  eyes  glowed  with  enthusiasm,  and  h« 
was  heard  to  murmur  ever  and  anon: 


THE   SECRET   BETRAYED.  l6l 

"  How  beautiful !     How  beautiful !" 

At  length,  stopping  before  a  "  Dead  Christ  wept  over 
by  an  Angel,"  *  he  said: 

"  Behold  a  work  which  shall  never  be  surpassed  by  any 
one!" 

"  So  my  praise  was  not  exaggerated,"  said  Aguidas. 

"  Thy  admiration  could  never  have  reached  the  level 
of  their  deserts,"  said  Murillo;  "  no  praise  is  too  great  for 
the  perfect  genius  of  the  man  who  has  erected  the  most 
magnificent  retablos  in  Spain,  sculptured  marvellous  stat- 
ues in  wood  or  marble,  and  painted  Virgins  that  would 
make  infidels  believe." 

"  Thou  knowest  then  this  Ridalto?"  said  the  count. 

"Sefior,"  cried  Murillo,  "whatever  be  the  name  upon 
the  base  of  these  works,  they  are  from  the  chisel  anr 
brush  of  Alonso  Cano." 

"  Alonso  Cano!"  cried  Aguidas,  "art  sure  ?" 

"  Sure,"  replied  Murillo.  "  God  seldom  gives  the  gift 
of  a  twofold  genius  to  man." 

Just  then  a  man  austerely  clad  in  black  approached 
Murillo.  His  countenance  was  stern,  his  gestures  few, 
his  voice  cold  and  cutting. 

"  According  to  thee,  then,  these  works  are  by  Alonso 
Cano  ?"  he  said. 

Murillo  looked  at  the  man  who  addressed  him,  and  as 
he  did  so  remembered  his  fellow  artist's  critical  situation. 
He  saw  that  his  imprudent  words  might  bring  new  per- 
secution upon  Alonso.  The  name  of  Ridalto  no  doubt 
concealed  the  identity  of  the  hapless  artist,  who  had  fled 
from  Madrid  terrified  by  the  awful  accusation  brought 
against  him.  He  felt  a  lively  remorse  for  what  he  had 

*  One  of  Alonso  Caao's  most  celebrated  works,  which  he  left  to  the 
Museum  of  Granada. 


i6a  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

done.  He  cast  a  look  of  distress  at  the  count,  as  if  ask- 
ing his  help. 

"  No  doubt,"  said  the  latter,  with  a  presence  of  mind 
which  much  reassured  Murillo,  "  thou  findest  something 
of  his  style  in  these  works,  but  an  intelligent  pupil  easily 
acquires  some  of  the  touches  of  his  master.  Therefore, 
while  recognizing  considerable  ability  in  these  produc- 
tions, I  would  hesitate  to  ascribe  them  to  a  man  who, 
once  the  favorite  of  Philip  IV..  was  led,  most  probably 
by  a  terrible, grief,  to  an  untimely  death." 

"  Thou  art  informed  that  Cano  is  dead,"  said  the  man 
in  black,  who  seemed  to  attach  great  importance  to 
Murillo's  opinion  as  to  the  merit  of  the  unknown  artist, 
and  to  compare  his  verdict  with  the  preceding  revela- 
tions of  Aguidas. 

"  I  have  heard  nothing  certain  thereupon,"  said  Mu- 
rillo, "but  the  sorrow  which  overpowered  that  most  hap- 
less of  artists  at  the  death  of  his  wife  no  doubt  ended 
in  madness." 

"Thou  dost  then  believe  in  his  innocence?"  said  the 
man  in  black. 

"  In  common  with  all  the  artists  of  Madrid,  Sefior,  I 
most  certainly  do,"  said  Murillo. 

"  That  is,  indeed,  generous,"  said  the  other,  "  but  jus- 
tice was  evidently  not  of  the  same  opinion  when  it  ac- 
cused him  of  one  of  the  greatest  of  crimes." 

"I  was  evidently  mistaken,  count,"  said  Murillo,  ad- 
dressing Aguidas,  "as  thou  sayest,  this  Ridalto  has  in 
all  probability  studied  under  Cano,  either  at  Seville  or 
Granada,  and  has  succeeded  in  imitating  his  master  to 
an  extent  which  could  deceive  even  the  eyes  of  an 
artist." 

The  count  appeared  to  coincide  with  this  opinion,  and 
all  the  guests  made  it  a  point  to  share  it  likewise. 


THE   SECRET   BETRAYED.  163 

Nevertheless,  the  incident  threw  a  damper  upon  the  fes- 
tivities. The  man  in  black,  who  had  seemed  so  interested 
in  hearing  Murillo's  opinion,  left  the  gallery  muttering 
to  himself. 

When  he  had  gone  the  count  became  curiously  op- 
pressed with  a  sense  of  impending  misfortune. 

"Sefior,"  said  Murillo,  with  undisguised  agitation, 
"  where  does  this  Ridalto  dwell  ?" 

"  Near  Grao,  in  the  village  of  the  Cabins.  I  know 
wherefore  thou  dost  ask.  Thou  art,  of  course,  convinced 
of  the  identity  of  this  mysterious  personage  with  Alonso 
Cano.  Neither  thou  nor  I  are  executioners." 

"Ah  !"  cried  Murillo,  "  I  would  be  forever  dishonored 
if  Alonso  Cano  were  arrested  through  my  imprudent 
words." 

"  Those  words  were  spoken  in  my  house,"  said  Aguidas, 
"and  I  would  fail  in  the  duty  of  hospitality,  so  sacred  to 
a  Spaniard,  did  I  not  aid  thee  in  saving  one  who,  through 
our  means,  is  in  peril.  I  now  comprehend  his  misan- 
thropy and  desire  for  solitude.  If  he  be  recognized  he 
is  lost.  Yet  neither  thou  nor  I  can  upon  any  pretext 
whatsoever  obtain  admittance  to  the  haunted  house. 
But  one  man  in  Valencia  enters  there,  yes,  and  I  believe 
he  is  now  an  inmate  of  the  house.  Speak  to  Milagro, 
tell  him  thy  name,  and  God  take  the  rest  in  His  charge." 

The  count  thrust  a  purse  of  gold  into  the  artist's 
hand. 

"Spare  no  expense,"  said  he;  "one  of  my  lackeys  will 
bring  thee  to  the  spot.  Thou  hast  all  night  to  take  such 
precautions  as  are  needful.  Lorenzo  Tarifa  will  wait 
till  to-morrow  to  mature  his  plans  for  obtaining  posses- 
sion of  Alonso  Cano.  The  law,  however  hasty  in  its  ac- 
tion, is  clogged  by  many  formalities.  A  Spaniard  ar- 
rested at  hazard  and  through  an  error  caused  by  the  over- 


164  THE   MONK'S  PARDON. 

zeal  of  a  judge  can  bring  such  a  storm  about  the  ears 
of  his  accuser  that  even  the  bravest  are  afraid.  Tarifa 
must  consult  his  colleagues,  and  it  will  be  late  in  the 
morning  when  his  myrmidons  surround  Milagro's  ac- 
cursed house." 

"  But,"  objected  Murillo,  "  the  city  gates  will  be  closed." 

"Thou  art  right,"  said  the  count;  "we  must  wait; 
only  we  must  strive  at  least  to  gain  upon  Tarifa  in  speed. 
I  will  accompany  thee  that  I  may  lend  thee  my  aid." 

Murillo  and  the  Count  Aguidas  set  out  together.  The 
dawn  was  whitening  the  east;  in  an  hour  the  city's  gates 
would  open.  Aguidas  had,  at  first,  some  idea  of  trying 
the  power  of  gold  upon  the  guardian  of  the  Gate  of  the 
Sea,  so  as  to  induce  him  to  open  it  quicker ;  but  if  he 
had  any  hope  of  bribing  the  man  it  was  soon  dispelled; 
a  dozen  soldiers  lined  the  way  awaiting  the  regular  hour 
for  the  opening  of  the  gate.  At  sight  of  them  Aguidas 
shuddered.  The  thought  at  once  struck  him  that  Alonso 
Cano's  arrest  would  be  more  speedy  than  he  had  sup- 
posed, and  that  Tarifa  evidently  preferred  erring  through 
excess  of  zeal  to  failing  in  the  capture  of  the  accused. 
At  length  the  gates  rolled  upon  their  hinges,  and  the 
soldiers  dividing  into  two  ranks  went  down  the  long 
avenue  towards  Grao. 

"God  be  praised  !"  cried  Aguidas,  "a  chance  yet  re- 
mains." 

"  What  is  that  ?"  asked  Murillo,  anxiously. 

"The  soldiers  are  goingp  by  the  avenue;  there  is  a 
shorter  way  which  we  can  take." 

And  the  count  pointed  to  a  rugged  and  uneven  path. 
They  were  soon  traversing  it.  Upon  one  side  were 
plantations  of  maize,  so  high  as  to  form  a  wall,  on  the 
other  an  olive  grove,  which  offered  shelter  in  case  of  an 
alarm. 


THE   SECRET   BETRAYED.  l6$ 

Both  hurried  on,  wondering,  silently,  if  it  were  possi- 
ble for  them  to  make  an  entrance  into  Milagro's  garden 
before  the  soldiers  arrived  there.  They  dared  not  speak, 
so  full  were  they  of  mutual  doubt  and  apprehension. 
The  count  merely  said  to  the  artist : 

"  Three  horses  will  be  at  the  foot  of  the  avenue  in  less 
than  half  an  hour." 

At  last  they  came  to  Milagro's  garden,  to  which  there 
was  no  entrance  at  the  back.  The  two  men  regarded 
the  high  wall,  lowered  in  some  places  by  the  ravages  of 
time  and  neglect. 

"We  must  scale  it,"  said  Murillo  tranquilly;  "leave 
that  to  me,  Count.  In  this  adventure  we  must  divide 
the  risks.  Thou  wilt  await  Alonso  here,  and  guide  him 
to  where  the  horses  are  in  readiness.  I  have  a  plan  in 
my  mind.  I  am  young  and  active  ;  I  shall  be  at  the  top 
of  that  wall  in  one  moment.  In  another  my  friend 
Alonso  will  be  with  thee." 

Murillo  began  the  ascent  of  the  wall  with  the  agility  of 
a  mountaineer.  Once  at  the  top  he  looked  down,  and 
was  glad  to  see  that  some  old  framework  for  vines, 
though  rickety  and  crumbling,  would  assist  his  descent. 
He  was  soon  in  the  garden.  He  advanced  to  the  door, 
opened  it  hastily,  and  came  face  to  face  with  Jose,  who 
was  silently,  as  usual,  going  about  his  tasks.  The  ser- 
vant would  have  opposed  his  entrance,  but  Murillo  said 
with  an  accent  of  convincing  sincerity : 

"  The  safety  of  thy  masters  at  stake." 

Jose  bowed  and  pointed  to  the  apartment  of  the  artist 
known  in  Valencia  as  Ridalto. 

Without  an  instant's  hesitation,  without  even  pausing 
to  consider  how  terrified  his  old  companion  of  the  studio 
would  be  at  sight  of  him,  Murillo  rushed  into  the  room. 
It  was  empty,  but,  passing  on  to  the  next,  the  windows  of 


166  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

which  opened  upon  the  sea,  he  saw  a  man  seated  at  an 
easel,  painting  with  all  the  ardor  of  inspiration.  Murillo 
rushed  over  and  caught  him  in  his  arms. 

"Alonso!"  he  cried  ;  "dear  Alonso  !" 

Hearing  himself  thus  addressed  the  man  grew  deadly 
pale. 

"Hush!"  said  he;  "hush!" 

Then  looking  around  distrustfully  he  said  : 

"  How  didst  thou  get  in  ?" 

"  Through  the  garden.     I  scaled  the  wall." 

"Thou  comest  then  to  save  me,"  said  Alonso,  "for 
Murillo  could  not  be  a  traitor." 

"I  come,  indeed,  to  save  thee,"  said  Murillo;  "thou  art 
in  instant  danger." 

"Who  has  betrayed  me  ?"  cried  Alonso  in  a  despairing 
tone. 

"Thyself,  misguided  man,"  cried  Murillo.  "Didst 
thou  not  know  that  such  talent  as  thine  must  reveal  thy 
identity?  To  think  otherwise  was  folly;  for  as  a  painter 
or  sculptor  thou  must  be  Alonso  Cano.  Yesterday  even- 
ing, in  the  gallery  of  the  Count  Aguidas,  thy  name  was 
mentioned.  Among  gentlemen  it  would  have  mattered 
little  ;  to  request  their  silence  would  have  been  sufficient. 
But  Judge  Tarifa  was  there,  and  was  determined  to  play 
the  zealous  magistrate.  Before  noon  thou  wilt  be  ar- 
rested ;  nay,  perchance,  in  an  hour." 

"  In  an  hour  !"  cried  Cano,  in  horror. 

Murillo  opened  the  window  and  looked  out.  He  saw 
the  soldiers  a  little  distance  off  advancing  towards  the 
house.  He  seized  Alonso  by  the  hand,  crying  : 

"  Fly,  without  an  instant's  delay.  Pause  not  to  look 
back.  On  the  other  side  of  yonder  wall  Count  Aguidas 
awaits  thee  ;  he  has  horses  in  readiness,  close  at  hand." 

"  But  thou  ?"  asked  Cano. 


THE   SECRET  BETRAYED.  167 

"I  will  remain  here." 

"Dear  and  generous  friend,"  said  Alonso,  "thy  con- 
duct proves  that  thou  dost  believe  me  innocent." 

"  I  believe  thee  the  noblest  and  most  unfortunate  of 
men,"  cried  Murillo,  impulsively  clasping  Alonso  in  his 
arms. 

Just  then  they  heard  the  measured  tread  of  soldiers 
coming  up  the  garden  walk.  An  imploring  look  from 
Murillo  resolved  Cano's  doubts.  He  sprung  out  into  the 
back  garden,  just  as  the  chief  of  the  detachment  raised 
the  knocker  of  the  door.  Jose's  frightened  face  was 
thrust  into  the  studio. 

"Thou  mayest  open!"  said  Murillo,  calmly. 

And  whilst  the  trembling  servant  prepared  to  obey, 
the  pupil  of  Pacheco,  taking  the  palette  of  colors  in  his 
hand,  sat  down  before  the  easel,  and  began  to  paint,  with 
the  rapidity  and  precision  of  touch  peculiar  to  him,  the 
figure  sketched  by  Alonso  Cano.  The  leader  of  the  party 
hastily  entered  the  studio  and  approached  the  artist. 

"  I  arrest  thee,"  he  said,  laying  his  hand  upon  Muril- 
lo's  shoulder. 

The  latter  turned  and  looked  at  him  with  a  careless 
smile. 

"  So  I  see,"  he  remarked.  "  Nevertheless  I  would  be 
glad  to  know  wherefore." 

"  That  gratification  will  shortly  be  given  thee,"  replied 
the  other. 

"  Wouldst  take  me  at  once  to  prison?" 

"Nay,  we  await  here  the  Sefior  Tarifa." 

"Good, "said  Murillo,  "meantime  I  can  continue  to 
paint  ?" 

"  If  thou  wilt." 

Murillo  carelessly  nodded  his  thanks  to  the  soldier, 
and  went  on  with  the  vrork  he  had  begun.  It  was  a 


i68  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

"  Dead  Christ,"  in  the  expression  of  which  was  extraor- 
dinary power  and  pathos.  The  figure  of  the  Saviour  was 
already  painted  by  Alonso,  with  his  wonderful  inspira- 
tion; the  face  of  the  angel  was  merely  sketched;  this, 
Murillo  hoped  to  finish  before  the  arrival  of  Sefior 
Tarifa.  An  hour  passed.  Old  Milagro,  uncertain  as  to 
what  was  going  on,  was  a  prey  to  the  most  cruel  anxiety. 
He  had  seen  Alonso  fly,  he  knew  that  the  house  was  full 
of  soldiers,  and  perceived  in  a  vague  way  that  Alonso's 
safety  depended  upon  the  handsome  young  man  who  sat 
tranquilly  painting  in  the  studio. 

Jos6,  by  Murillo's  orders,  brought  the  soldiers  some 
flagons  of  Spanish  wine;  they  drank  this  readily  enough, 
without,  however,  relaxing  their  vigilance.  Tarifa's  joy 
was  great.  He  hoped,  at  one  blow,  to  win  a  double 
triumph.  Milagro's  case  might  be  brought  up  again, 
thanks  to  the  presence  of  Alonso  Cano  in  his  house. 

Aguidas  and  Murillo  had  been  wise  not  to  lose  any 
time.  Lorenzo  Tarifa  was  not  one  to  sleep  over  a  plan 
once  formed.  Instead  of  going  quietly  home  on  leaving 
Aguidas's  dwelling,  he  had  sought  out  one  of  his  col- 
leagues, and  made  known  his  suspicions  as  to  the  iden- 
tity of  the  mysterious  tenant  of  the  haunted  house.  The 
other  judge  agreed  with  him  that  it  was  best  to  make 
the  arrest  as  soon  as  possible,  and  to  procure,  before  day, 
the  necessary  authority.  The  signature  of  the  Marquis 
de  Miranda  was  indispensable,  but  the  marquis  was  still 
at  the  ball,  and  would  not  be  home  before  dawn,  so  that 
Tarifa  could  only  wait  patiently.  By  sunrise,  however, 
he  had  in  his  possession  a  warrant  for  the  arrest  of  a 
man  of  suspicious  origin  and  habits,  inhabiting  a  house 
of  ill  repute  owned  by  Milagro. 

Tarifa  did  not  lose  a  minute  in  sending  officers  to  sur- 
round Milagro's  house,  whilst  he  himself  went  to  secure 


THE  SECRET  BETRAYED.  169 

the  presence  of  another  magistrate  for  the  purpose  of 
establishing  Alonso's  identity.  Tarifa,  believing  that  he 
held  fortune  and  advancement  in  his  hand,  did  not  let 
the  grass  grow  under  his  feet.  Accompanied  by  two 
eminent  magistrates  of  Valencia,  he  proceeded  towards 
Grao,  after  having,  by  an  additional  precaution,  com- 
manded some  mounted  soldiers  to  follow  him  at  a  little 
distance. 

Just  as  the  soldiers  had  finished  the  last  flagon  of  wine, 
and  while  Jose  was  still  watching  the  garden  wall,  over 
which  Alonso  had  passed,  Tarifa  and  his  two  compan- 
ions appeared  at  the  door  and  entered  unannounced. 
Jose  recognized  one  of  them  as  the  judge  who  had  pro- 
nounced sentence  upon  him  at  his  trial,  and  an  involun- 
tary smile  crossed  his  lips. 

He  was  not  sorry  to  see  this  judge,  who  had  been  more 
than  severe  to  him,  about  to  commit  himself  to  the  arrest 
of  an  innocent  man.  He  was,  moreover,  prepared  to 
enjoy  his  surprise  and  vexation  when  he  learned  that  he 
whom  he  sought  had  escaped. 

Tarifa's  air  of  triumphant  self-importance  was  inde- 
scribable. He  had  so  ridiculed  the  judge  at  Madrid,  who, 
when  he  was  in  the  very  act  of  taking  the  murderer  of 
Mercedes  to  prison,  had  found  in  his  stead  a  peaceful 
guitar  player,  whose  face  was  radiant  with  joy  and  tri- 
umph at  the  escape  of  the  real  criminal. 

He  took  no  pains  to  conceal  his  delight  under  that  air 
of  stern  devotion  to  duty  usually  assumed  by  magistrates 
on  such  occasions.  His  joy  shone  out  in  every  feature 
of  his  face,  and  in  every  curve  of  his  short  and  portly 
figure.  With  a  gesture  of  ineffable  self-complacency  he 
waved  his  companions  aside,  that  he  might  enter  first, 
and  have  the  honor  of  laying  his  hand  upon  the  shoulder 


I/O  THE   MONK'S  PARDON. 

of  a  wretch  already  doomed  to  the  darkest  dungeon  in 
Valencia. 

Jos6  was  in  the  vestibule.     Tarifa  asked  him: 

"This  house  belongs  to  Milagro  ?" 

"Yes,  your  excellency." 

"  Where  is  he  just  now  ?" 

"  In  his  own  room." 

"  Has  he  a  strange  tenant  ?" 

"  Yes,  Sefior,  a  painter." 

"  Observe  !"  said  Tarifa,  turning  to  his  colleagues. 

They  bowed  with  a  deference  which  ill  concealed  a 
certain  jealousy. 

"  And  this  painter  ?" 

"  Is  now  at  work  in  his  studio." 

Tarifa  made  a  step  forward. 

"  Shall  I  inform  him  of  your  visit,  Sefior  ?" 

"  The  law  may  enter  unannounced,"  said  Tarifa  sen- 
tentiously. 

So  saying  he  pushed  open  the  studio  door  and  entered 
hastily.  The  other  magistrates  followed  closing  the 
door,  and  Tarifa  passed  round  the  easel,  that  he  might 
be  face  to  face  with  his  victim. 

Perceiving  them  Murillo  rose  with  that  rare,  habitual 
courtesy  which  made  him  the  equal  of  the  first  gentlemen 
in  Spain,  and  motioned  them  to  seats. 

"  It  is  not  necessary,"  said  Tarifa,  rudely,  "  we  shall  not 
remain  here  long." 

"  Come  ye  to  purchase  a  picture?"  said  Murillo,  with 
perfect  ease;  "  if  so,  I  regret  to  inform  your  excellency 
that  the  work  ordered  by  his  most  Catholic  majesty,  as 
well  as  by  the  various  convents  of  Spain,  will  not  permi: 
me  to  undertake  any  farther  commissions  this  year." 

"  We  are  not  here  to  talk  of  pictures,"  said  Tarifa, 
u  but  of  a  matter  which  may  well  cause  thee  to  lay  aside 


THE   SECRET  BETRAYED.  I/I 

tnis  air  of  levity  which  thou  seemest  to  affect,  and  which 
will  have  its  full  weight  upon  our  judgment." 

'^An  air  of  levity!"  repeated  Murillo;  "  I  confess  that 
my  mood  is  by  no  means  sober,  and  thou  thyself,  Sefior 
Tarifa,  appeared  to  me  of  more  jovial  mien  last  even- 
ing." 

"  Last  evening!"  repeated  the  judge. 

"  Even  so,  at  the  Count  Aguidas's  ball,  where  I  had  the 
honor  of  meeting  thee." 

"  I  was  there,"  said  Tarifa,  "  which  is  but  another  proof 
that  justice  watches  everywhere  and  always.  It  might 
be  supposed  that  the  magistrate  sought  his  own  pleas- 
ure in  such  a  scene;  whereas  he  was  but  accomplishing 
his  duty.  Thou  must  follow  us." 

Murillo  laid  down  his  pencil  and  palette  upon  the 
table,  and  looking  steadily  at  the  magistrate,  said: 

"  Whatever  my  respect  for  the  law  and  its  representa- 
tives, I  cannot  permit  any  one — any  one,  hearest  thou, 
Sefior,  to  address  me  in  so  loud  a  tone  of  voice,  and  with 
covered  head." 

So  saying  Murillo,  by  a  slight  gesture,  knocked  off 
Tarifa's  hat. 

"Wretch!"  cried  he,  "wretch!  But  the  guards  are 
there,  and  thou  wilt  answer  for  thine  insolence.  Thou 
dost  seek  to  impose  upon  us;  we  know  thy  name,  and 
the  motive  which  has  led  thee  to  conceal  thyself  here." 

"  My  name  is  not  one  of  which  I  have  any  cause  to  be 
ashamed,"  said  Murillo,  "  and  as  to  my  partiality  for  this 
house  its  situation  fully  justifies  it.  Thou  dost  speak  of 
guards  and  of  arrest;  thou  hast  called  me  a  wretch. 
Beware,  in  thy  turn,  Sefior  Tarifa,  that  I  use  not  against 
thee  the  influence  which  I  possess  at  court." 

"  We  shall  soon  see  how  much  thine  influence  will 
avail  thee,"  cried  the  enraged  Tarifa. 


172  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

He  opened  the  door,  and  at  a  signal  six  of  the  soldiers 
whom  he  had  left  in  the  vestibule  entered  the  studio. 
An  indignant  flush  mounted  to  the  artist's  face. 

"  Have  a  care  what  thou  dost!"  he  cried;  "  if  thou  dost 
value  thy  place  and  thy  reputation  do  not  venture  to 
arrest  me,  Sefior  Tarifa;  for  I  swear  that  in  less  than  a 
month  thou  wilt  lose  thy  situation  if  one  of  these  men 
so  much  as  lay  a  finger  upon  me." 

Tarifa  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Thou  wilt  sing  a  different  tune  shortly,  my  young 
popinjay,"  said  he. 

Murillo  was  at  first  tempted  to  defend  himself,  but  he 
reflected  that  such  a  struggle  would  be  degrading,  and 
that  it  was  better  to  undergo  this  momentary  mortifica- 
tion, so  as  to  make  his  own  case  stronger  against  Tarifa, 
and  to  render  the  judge's  defeat  doubly  humiliating. 

The  artist's  hands  were  quickly  fettered.  Tarifa  then 
fat  down,  leaving  the  artist  standing,  and  said  rudely: 

"Thy  name  ?" 

"Thou  shouldst  have  commenced  by  that,"  said  the 
painter,  laughing. 

"Justice  proceeds  according  to  its  own  good  pleasure," 
said  Tarifa. 

"In  truth,"  said  the  artist,  "but  not  at  all  according 
to  mine." 

"Thy  name?"  repeated  Tarifa,  stamping  his  foot. 

"  Thou  dost  not  know  it,  Sefior,"  said  the  artist,  "  when 
it  is  known  to  all  Spain.  Behold  the  worthlessness  of 
human  glory.  One  dreams  he  is  famous,  and  in  Valen- 
cia, a  town  renowned  for  its  artistic  tastes,  a  man  finds 
thee  handling  the  brush  and  painting  in  full  daylight  the 
face  of  yonder  angel,  and  he  asks  thy  name." 

A  sound  was  heard  in  the  vestibule;  the  studio  door 
opened  slowly,  revealing  the  Count  Aguidas. 


THE   SECRET   BETRAYED.  173 

The  painter  uttered  an  exclamation  of  delight. 

"Count  Aguidas,"  he  cried,  "  thou,  my  lord,  couldst 
never  have  been  mistaken;  and  looking  at  the  face  which 
I  have  just  painted,  would  have  said  at  once  that  my 
name  was — " 

"  Estaban  Murillo,"  said  Aguidas,  advancing  towards 
him. 

He  only  then  observed  the  fetters  upon  the  artist's 
wrists. 

"What  is  going  on  here?"  he  said  sternly,  addressing 
Tarifa.  "  Thou  hast  arrested  Murillo,  the  painter  to  the 
King,  and  who  shares  the  royal  favor  with  Velasquez." 

"This  man  has  deceived  thee,  my  Lord  Aguidas,"  said 
Tarifa;  "  a  zealous  and  clear-sighted  magistrate  is  not  so 
easily  misled.  Dost  thou  not  remember  the  means  of 
which  this  wretch  made  use  at  Madrid  to  escape  from 
the  hands  of  the  law  ?" 

"  For  whom  dost  thou  take  him  ?"  asked  Aguidas. 

"  For  Alonso  Cano,  the  murderer  of  his  wife." 

Murillo  burst  into  a  merry  laugh. 

"I  am  indeed  distressed,"  he  said,  "that  these  fetters, 
with  which  thou  hast  been  kind  enough  to  adorn  me, 
prevent  me  producing  from  the  pocket  of  my  doublet 
letters  of  credit  from  the  King." 

"Naught  else  will  satisfy  me,"  cried  Tarifa;  "and  I 
will—" 

Murillo  waved  him  backwards. 

"Touch  me  not,"  he  said;  "when  the  law  descends  as 
thou  hast  done  to  the  level  of  sbirri  *  I  feel  so  great  a  re- 
pugnance towards  it  that  I  am  humiliated  by  its  very 
touch.  Count  Aguidas  will  do  me  the  favor  of  bringing 
forth  my  papers." 

*  Bailiffs  or  constables. 


1/4  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

Aguidas  put  his  hands  into  the  pockets  of  Murillo't 
velvet  doublet  and  brought  forth  great  sheets  of  parch- 
ment sealed  with  the  royal  seal.  Tarifa  took  them,  ter- 
ror already  taking  the  place  of  his  late  bravado. 

"Murillo!  Estaban  Murillo!  painter  to  the  King!  It  ii 
indeed  he;  it  is  the  royal  writing,  the  seal.  But  then — 

"Thou  art  a  fool!"  cried  Murillo;  "and  what  I  have 
promised  I  will  do." 

"What  hast  thou  promised  ?" 

"To  deprive  thee  of  thy  place." 

"  But  Cano,  this  Alonso  Cano  was  here.  Thou  didst 
not  inhabit  this  house  yesterday." 

The  little  door  communicating  with  that  of  Milagro 
suddenly  was  flung  open,  and  two  soldiers  entered. 

"  The  criminal  has  fled,"  they  cried.  "He  scaled  the 
wall;  but  four  of  our  men  are  in  pursuit." 

Count  Aguidas  turned  pale.  Tarifa  glanced  trium- 
phantly at  Murillo,  saying: 

"The  game  is  not  yet  ended,  Sefior  Murillo,  and  if  I 
^win  it,  the  worse  for  thee.  To  assist  in  the  escape  of  a 
prisoner  is  a  crime  expressly  provided  for  by  the  law." 

Tarifa  rushed  cut  into  the  garden,  while  Murillo, 
Aguidas,  and  three  sVc^er  remained  in  the  studio. 


BETWEEN   TWO  FIRES,  175 


CHAPTER  XII. 

BETWEEN  Two  FIRES. 

BEFORE  Alonso  Cano  consented  to  scale  the  wall  he 
cried  out  to  Aguidas: 

"  Dost  thou  not  think  it  would  be  better  to  remain 
here  and  protect  Murillo  ?" 

"Nay,"  said  the  count,  "Murillo  is  of  those  who  pro- 
tect tfiemsel  yes.  Were  I  to  leave  thee  now  thou  mightest 
not  find  the  horses  which  await  us,  and  we  would  all  per- 
chance be  compromised,  and  our  cause  lost." 

"As  thou  wilt,"  said  Alonso;  "let  us  go.  Promise  me 
only  that  thou  wilt  leave  me  as  soon  as  I' am  in  safety, 
which  will  be  when  I  get  on  horseback." 

"  I  promise,"  said  Aguidas. 

Just  as  Alonso  had  climbed  to  the  summit  of  the  wal! 
he  saw  at  the  window  of  a  neighboring  house  a  black, 
woolly  head,  and  a  face  of  a  singularly  repulsive  char- 
acter. The  curious  and  threatening  expression  upon 
the  man's  face  showed  him  to  be  animated  by  anything 
but  friendly  sentiments.  Cano's  face  grew  troubled 
when  he  caught  this  piercing  glance,  and  yielding  to  a 
momentary  terror  he  jumped  into  the  road.  He  uttered 
a  cry  of  pain  as  he  reached  the  ground,  and  quickly  put 
his  hand  to  his  wounded  foot.  When  Cano  had  taken 
this  dangerous  leap  the  Count  Aguidas  rushed  over  t-.; 
him  and  Cano  exclaimed: 

"We  are  observed,  and  will  be  betrayed." 

"  There  may  yet  be  time  for  us  to  escape,"  replied 
Aguidas.  "  We  will  reach  the  place  where  the  horses  are 


1 76  THE  MONK'S  PARDON, 

in  waiting  before  this  Tricordo,  whom  I  know  by  repu- 
tation, has  given  us  up.  Canst  thou  walk?" 

"I  must  walk  or  be  taken,"  said  Alonso;  "I  must 
walk." 

He  rose  and  took  a  few  steps,  but  the  pain  was  so  in- 
tense that  it  forced  a  groan  from  him.  Then  leaning 
tgainst  the  trunk  of  an  olive  tree  he  said,  in  a  tone  of 
despondency: 

"  Perchance  it  is  better  to  stay  here.  I  am  weary  of 
this  perpetual  mystery.  What  has  occurred  to-day  seems 
fatal  and  inexorable.  Wherefore  seek  to  escape  a  mis- 
fortune which  follows  me  inevitably  ?" 

"Thou  shall  not,"  said  Aguidas;  "thou  shalt  not.  All 
my  life  would  I  reproach  myself  that,  so  far  from  having 
been  of  service  to  thee,  my  admiration  was  the  cause  of 
thy  ruin.  Thou  must  fly,  Alonso;  fly  again,  fly  always, 
till—'5 

"  Till  I  die  of  despair,"  said  the  artist. 

"Till  thine  innocence  is  made  fully  manifest." 

"Will  God  ever  permit  that?"  asked  Alonso  in  a  tone 
of  discouragement. 

"  He  will,  be  assured." 

"Moreover,  where  am  I  to  go?"  said  Alonso  wearily. 
"  It  would  seem  that  God  wills  my  punishment,  and  I  had 
better  resign  myself  to  it  at  once;  sooner  or  later  I  shall 
be  dragged  before  the  bar  of  justice.  If  I  have  hith- 
erto sought  to  elude  its  pursuit,  it  is  because  I  awaited 
the  result  of  Miguel's  endeavors.  Miguel  is  my  heroic 
pupil,  who  is  now  in  Naples  watching  the  movements  of 
one  whom  he  and  I  have  reason  to  suspect  of  the  crime 
with  which  I  am  charged.  Alas,  many  months  have 
passed,  and  Miguel  has  been  unable  to  find  any  proofs. 
Who  knows  if  the  truth  will  ever  be  made  manifest? 
His  devotion  may  be  in  vain.  Let  me  then  appear  be- 


BETWEEN   TWO   FIRES.  177 

fore  accusing  justice;  thou  knowest  that  I  can  appeal 
thence  to  God." 

"  I  know,  too,  that  there  is  no  power  which  can  bring 
a  man  once  dead  to  life  again.  I  know  that  men  are 
easily  deceived,  and  that  Tarifa  seeks  thee  with  the  same 
cage:  ness  now  that  Resales  did  before.  Thy  wound 
will  not  permit  thee  to  walk.  I  will  leave  thee  for  an 
instant,  to  return  with  the  horses.  Make  no  objection; 
I  desire  it." 

Aguidas  clasped  Cano's  hand  in  both  his  own  as  he 
spo'ce. 

"  Do  as  thou  wilt,"  said  Cano,  with  more  resignation 
thai  joy  in  his  tone. 

The  count  rushed  off  leaving  Alonso  at  the  foot  of  the 
olive  tree.  When  Aguidas  was  gone  the  repulsive  face 
wh'.ch  we  have  described  appeared  again  at  the  window. 
The  piercing  eyes  looked  out  upon  the  road,  then  the 
grinning  visage  disappeared,  and  the  window  was  closed. 

No  sooner  did  Tricordo  discover  that  one  of  the  men 
had  disappeared  than  he  ran  down  the  stairs.  He  was  a 
small,  thin,  dark  individual,  with  legs  too  short  for  his 
body  and  a  waist  too  long.  His  bristling  head  resembled 
that  of  a  wolf,  and  there  was  a  certain  ferocity  in  his 
red  gums  and  sharp-pointed  teeth.  He  suspected  at 
once  that  there  was  some  mystery  afoot.  A  man  does 
not  leave  a  house  of  which  he  is  merely  a  peaceful  tenant 
in  such  an  unusual  manner.  Besides  Milagro's  connec- 
tion with  him  seemed  to  justify  all  manner  of  suspicions; 
at  least  he  must  be  a  thief,  and  a  thief  seeking  to  escape 
from  justice. 

To  give  up  such  a  person  to  the  law  seemed  to  Tri- 
cordo an  occupation  the  more  attractive  that  it  was 
often  lucrative.  The  magistrates  always  testified  their 


178  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

gratitude  to  Tricordo  in  a  substantial  manner,  and  this 
time  he  resolved  to  deserve  their  appreciation. 

Creeping  cautiously  along  by  the  hedge  which  sepa- 
rated his  own  garden  from  the  stony  road,  where  Alonso 
awaited  the  count's  return,  Tricordo  stationed  himself 
behind  the  last  group  of  shrubs  which  separated  him 
from  the  path. 

He  was  scarcely  two  hundred  paces  from  Alonso. 

He  thought  at  first  of  approaching  him,  but  on  reflec- 
tion paused.  Evidently,  according  to  Tricordo's  logic, 
a  man  who  jumps  from  a  high  wall  instead  of  going 
honestly  out  the  door  must  needs  be  a  thief.  But,  ad- 
mitting that  this  hypothesis  was  just,  there  was  nothing 
to  prevent  this  malefactor,  abandoned  by  his  accomplice 
for  a  cause  which  Tricordo  could  not  guess,  from  having  a 
finely-tempered  sword  about  him,  which  might  be  plunged 
into  the  breast  of  any  man  who  was  curious  enough  to 
attempt  to  question  him  upon  his  name  and  means  of 
living. 

All  things  considered,  Tricordo  thought  it  more  pru- 
dent to  turn  his  attention  to  Milagro's  house,  and  dis- 
cover whatsoever  of  unusual  might  be  going  on  there. 
Once  he  caught  sight  of  the  uniform  of  the  soldiers  he 
was  reassured  as  to  his  own  safety  and  the  result  of  his 
information.  He  therefore  approached  one  of  the  soldiers 
and  said: 

"  Thou  art  seeking  some  game  for  the garote" * 

"  It  may  be  so,"  answered  the  soldier,  "  but  that  con- 
cerns Judge  Tarifa,  who  at  this  moment  is  examining  the 
prisoner." 

"  Where,  in  the  room  ?"  said  Tricordo. 

*  Strangling  by  means  of  an  iron  collar;  the  mode  of  capital  punish- 
ment in  Spain. 


BETWEEN  TWO   FIRES.  1/9 

"  As  thou  mayest  see  by  passing  in  front  of  the  win- 
dow." 

"  But  then,"  asked  Tricordo.  "  canst  tell  me  who  are 
the  two  men  who  have  just  scaled  the  garden-wall,  and 
escaped  on  to  the  road  ?" 

"  Two  men  leaped  into  the  road  ?" 

"Yes,  a  moment  ago." 

"  Thou  art  sure  they  came  out  of  the  garden  ?" 

"  My  window  opens  thereupon*." 

"  CarambaT  cried  the  soldier,  "the  alfercz  must  know 
of  this." 

The  soldier  approached  his  commander  and  repeated 
what  Tricordo  had  told  him.  The  officer  at  once  knocked 
at  the  door  of  the  studio.  It  was  at  the  very  moment 
when  Tarifa  had  read  the  King's  letters,  proving  that 
the  man  whom  he  had  arrested  was  Estaban  Murillo. 

"We  have  been  imposed  upon,  Sefior,"said  the  officer, 
"  but,  by  the  Virgin  del  Pilar,  we  shall  have  our  revenge. 
Whilst  thou  art  questioning  this  man,  the  one  we  are  in 
search  of  has  scaled  the  wall  with  his  accomplice.  By 
the  intervention  of  Providence  he  hurt  himself  in  falling, 
so  that  his  capture  will  be  easy." 

"  To  horse!  to  horse!"  cried  Tarifa  to  the  officer,  "and 
bring  back  this  man,  living  or  dead." 

Tricordo  now  advanced  with  an  awkward  salute. 

"  I  dare  to  make  known  to  your  lordship,"  he  said. 
"  that  it  was  I  who  called  the  attention  of  the  soldiers  to 
the  prisoner's  escape." 

"  Thou?"  said  Count  Aguidas.  "  I  shall  remember  thee 
again." 

"  Thy  name?"  said  the  judge. 

"  Tricordo,  at  thy  service." 

"  Lead  my  men,  Tricordo,  and  a  hundred  ducats  re^ 
ward  if  thou  bringest  back  Alonso  Cano  alive." 


*§0  THE   MONK'S   PARDON. 

"  How  much  if  he  be  dead  ?"  said  the  informer  cyni- 
cally. 

"The  half." 

"  Rest  assured  he  shall  be  brought  unharmed." 

Four  horsemen,  ready  to  pursue  the  unfortunate  if  he 
had  escaped,  and  six  on  foot,  followed  Tricordo,  whither 
he  led  the  way. 

"  I  left  him  at  the  foot  of  the  olive  tree,"  said  Tricordo 
to  the  soldiers. 

But  they  and  the  spy  looked  in  vain  under  the  olive 
tree.  The  coast  was  clear.  In  the  distance  they  per- 
cei'  ed  a  horseman  going  at  full  gallop. 

"  It  is  he!"  cried  Tricordo;  "  it  is  he." 

The  foot-soldiers  saw  at  once  that  their  interference 
was  useless,  but  the  four  others,  well  mounted,  and 
knowing  that  their  pray  was  before  them,  put  spurs  to 
their  horses. 

"And  I,"  cried  Tricordo,  "  I  want  to  win  the  money." 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer,  he  sprung  upon  the 
crupper  of  one  of  the  horses  with  an  agility  little  to  be 
expected  from  so  miserable  a  pigmy. 

The  man  whom  they  pursued  had  still  a  considerable 
start  of  them.  It  was  indeed  Alonso  Cano. 

Whilst  Tricordo  was  observing  their  movements  Count 
Aguidas  rushed  off  to  where  the  horses  were  awaiting 
him.  He  mounted  his  own,  and  his  groom  brought  an- 
other for  Alonso,  just  as  Tricordo  began  his  revelations 
to  the  soldiers.  Rapidly  as  it  was  decided  upon  to  pur- 
sue the  fugitive,  Alonso,  aided  by  the  count  and  his 
groom,  had  even  more  rapidly  mounted  his  horse.  Once 
in  the  saddle  he  whispered  to  Aguidas: 

"  Stay  with  Murillo,  give  thyself  no  farther  concern 
nbout  me.  Thanks  to  thee  I  have  a  horse  and  gold. 


BETWEEN   TWO   FIRES.  l8l 

And  it  please  Heaven  in  less  than  an  hour  I  shall  be  be- 
yond the  reach  of  my  enemies." 

"  Vaga  con  J)ios,"  said  the  count,  wringing  Alonso's 
hand.  "Wilt  accept  the  escort  of  my  groom  ?" 

"  His  livery  might  be  recognized:  it  is  better  that  I  go 
alone,"  replied  Alonso. 

"  Return  home,  then,  Piquillo,"  said  the  count  to  his 
groom. 

Then,  fixing  his  eyes  upon  Alonso,  as  the  latter  steadied 
himself  in  the  saddle,  he  cried: 

"God  grant  that  we  meet  again  under  happier  circunv 
stances." 

Then  they  all  three  separated;  the  groom  to  return 
home;  Aguidas  to  re-enter  Milagro's  house;  and  Cano  to 
ride  straight  before  him,  where  chance  should  lead,  or 
rather  towards  the  shelter  provided  for  him  by  ProvU 
dence. 

The  artist  had  gone  but  a  short  distance  when  he 
heard  shouts  and  the  whinnying  of  horses.  He  turned 
his  head  and  saw  an  officer,  who  with  four  men  was  evi- 
dently giving  him  chase.  Alonso  urged  on  his  horse  by 
whip  and  spur,  and  the  noble  animal,  one  of  the  best  in 
Aguidas's  stables,  which  were  renowned  through  Valen- 
cia, sped  on  at  a  furious  rate. 

The  rapidity  with  which  Alonso  went  stimulated  the 
zeal  of  the  soldiers,  who  were  besides  urged  to  enthusi- 
asm by  Tricordo. 

"  Faster,  my  friends,  faster!"  cried  he;  "  we  must 
catch  that  wretched  murderer  and  conspirator.  He  killed 
his  wife  and  tried  to  dethrone  the  King.  Judge  Tarifa 
promised  me  a  hundred  ducats  to  bring  him  back  alive. 
Help  me  to  gain  this  money  and  I  will  not  be  ungrateful. 
I  will  scatter  the  reals  cheerfully  among  good  comrades 
like  you.  Quicker!  go  quicker!" 


182  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

And  the  horses  were  spurred  and  urged  on  to  their 
utmost.  Alonso  was  nearly  hidden  from  their  sight  by  a 
very  whirlpool  of  dust.  They  soon  reached  the  avenue 
leading  to  Valencia,  but,  instead  of  passing  straight 
through  it,  Cano  turned  to  the  right  and  gained  the  open 
country.  Unfortunately  it  was  but  a  flat  surface,  where- 
on there  was  no  possible  shelter.  Without  perceptibly 
slackening  his  pace  Alonso's  horse,  accustomed  to  more 
gentle  management,  began  to  rebel  against  the  tight  rein 
kept  upon  him,  and  to  show  mutinous  symptoms.  The 
soldiers,  on  the  other  hand,  gained  upon  the  fugitive,  and 
whenever  he  turned  his  head  to  calculate  the  distance 
between  them  he  perceived  with  horror  that  it  was  con- 
stantly diminishing.  He  saw  that  there  was  a  crisis 
approaching.  Flight  was  not  enough;  there  would  be  a 
struggle.  Alonso  looked  hastily  around  him,  and  ob- 
served at  length  a  ruined  hut,  of  which  but  two  walls  re- 
maining formed  a  sort  of  right  angle  covered  with  thatch. 
It  was  certainly  not  a  place  of  safety,  but  at  least  it  gave 
Alonso  a  last  chance  in  case  he  had  to  defend  himself. 

A  few  moments  before  he  had  given  way  to  discour- 
agement, and  talked  of  giving  up  that  terrible  game 
which  he  must  inevitably  lose;  but,  by  one  of  those  ap- 
parent contradictions  of  the  human  mind,  he  was  now 
seized  with  a  perfect  passion  for  the  struggle.  Strong 
in  the  justice  of  his  cause  and  his  own  innocence,  he  was 
determined  neither  to  lose  his  liberty  nor  sacrifice  his 
life.  The  struggle  was  forced  upon  him,  he  accepted  it. 
At  that  period,  and  especially  in  chivalric  Spain,  the  time 
of  judicial  duels  and  the  "  Judgment  of  God  "  was  not  yet 
so  remote  but  that  the  idea  of  the  Almighty  interfering  in 
behalf  of  the  innocent  naturally  occurred  to  the  mind  of 
the  unfortunate.  Hence  Alonso  hastily  invoked  the  jus- 
tice of  God,  and  begged  of  Mercedes  to  intercede  for 


BETWEEN  TWO   FIRES.  1 8$ 

him;  he  reached  the  ruined  hut  at  a  single  bound,  and 
placed  himself  in  the  extreme  angle  which  it  formed; 
protected  thus  on  both  sides  he  drew  his  sword  and 
awaited  his  pursuers. 

The  officer  was  the  first  to  come  up  with  him. 

"Yield  thyself,"  he  said;  "I  give  thee  my  word  that 
thou  shalt  not  be  molested." 

"  I  am  innocent,"  said  Alonso.  "  I  will  not  attack  you, 
because  you  are  in  the  King's  service,  but  I  will  defend 
myself." 

"  Alonso  Cano,"  said  the  alferez,  "  do  not  increase  the 
danger  of  thy  situation,  which  is  already  perilous." 

"  Thou  thinkest  to  cast  my  name  in  my  face  as  an  insult 
and  a  reproach,"  said  the  artist;  "thou  art  mistaken.  I 
am  strong  in  my  innocence." 

"There  are  four  of  us,"  said  the  officer. 

"  Five,"  said  Tricordo  angrily. 

"  Were  ye  a  hundred  I  defy  you,"  said  Cano. 

At  a  sign  from  the  alferez  the  soldiers  advanced  and 
made  an  attempt  to  surround  Cano.  As  he  had  said,  he 
was  determined  not  to  attack,  but  to  remain  simply  upon 
the  defensive.  However,  as  the  contest  was  four  to  one, 
he  needed  all  his  skill  in  fencing  to  enable  him  to  keep 
off  the  four  swords  drawn  against  him.  Alonso's  sword 
clashed  with  each  in  turn;  it  whistled,  gleamed,  and  cut 
the  air  like  a  living  flame.  It  did  its  work  unweariedly, 
seeming  to  cover  Alonso  like  a  great  shield. 

The  soldiers  sought  each  in  turn  to  strike  Alonso  in 
the  head,  neck,  or  chest;  he  parried  each  attack  and 
evaded  every  thrust.  Strangest  of  all,  he  did  not  feel 
any  fatigue.  This  unequal,  desperate  battle  seemed  to 
increase  rather  than  diminish  his  strength;  the  soldiers 
first  gave  signs  of  weariness.  Hitherto  Tricordo  had 
contented  himself  with  surveying  the  struggle.  He  had 


184  THE  MONK'S  PARDON.' 

given  chase  to  Cano,  and  would  have  mingled  in  the 
thickest  of  the  fight,  did  he  not  fear  that  in  the  confusion 
of  thrusts  and  counter-thrusts  he  might  have  received 
some  injury.  For  if  Tricordo's  master-passion  was  ava- 
rice, it  did  not  exclude  all  care  for  his  self-preservation. 
However,  he  remembered  the  hundred  ducats,  and,  de- 
termined to  win  them,  he  thought  of  an  ingenious  mode 
of  accomplishing  his  object.  Gliding  under  the  horses' 
feet,  he  passed  round  to  the  other  side  of  the  hut.  A 
heap  of  stones  assisted  him  in  reaching  that  part  of  the 
roof  over  Alonso's  head.  This  sloping  bit  of  thatch  was 
still  resting  upon  the  walls.  Having  examined  the 
structure  carefully,  Tricordo  drew  a  tinder-box  and  some 
matches  from  his  pocket,  and  struck  a  light.  He  then 
seized  a  handful  of  thatch  and  with  it  formed  a  torch. 
When  it  blazed  he  threw  it  upon  the  roof,  and  watched 
with  ferocious  joy  the  progress  of  the  flame. 

In  another  moment  Alonso  Cano  would  be  dislodged 
from  the  protecting  angle  of  the  wall.  Once  driven 
thence,  the  four  soldiers  could  quickly  seize  upon  him, 
even  if  each  were  obliged  to  inflict  a  wound  in  so  doing. 

The  heat  and  the  odor  of  burning  straw  warned  Alon- 
so of  his  danger,  and,  raising  his  head,  he  saw  the  roof 
on  fire  above  him.  Aware  of  his  peril,  Alonso  felt  that 
he  must  put  an  end  to  the  struggle.  Another  incident 
also  forced  him  into  taking  the  offensive.  While  looking 
upward  to  see  whence  the  smoke  proceeded,  a  soldier  lu:d 
wounded  him  in  the  arm  with  his  lance,  so  that  the  blood 
began  to  flow  freely.  The  pain  caused  by  his  wound  and 
the  fear  of  the  new  danger  which  threatened  him  from 
overhead  made  him  abandon  the  defensive.  He  returned 
every  thrust.  A  second  time  he  was  wounded  in  the  side 
by  his  adversaries.  Then  his  horse,  upon  whom  some 
sparks  had  fallen,  made  a  bound  forward.  Two  of  the 


BETWEEN  TWO   FIRES.  l8$ 

soldiers  profited  by  this  movement  to  get  in  behind  Alon- 
so,  and  in  their  turn  shelter  themselves  against  the  wall. 
They  thought  they  were  sure  of  victory,  when  all  at  once 
a  cry  was  heard. 

The  burning  roof  had  fallen  upon  the  two  soldiers, 
thrown  to  the  ground  by  a  plunge  of  their  horses.  Behind 
Alonso  was  now  a  living  furnace;  before  him  two  naked 
swords.  The  swords  seemed  the  less  formidable.  He 
rushed  forward,  his  sword  outstretched,  in  such  manned 
as  to  protect  himself  without  aiming  at  any  one.  A  sol- 
dier, in  the  act  of  rushing  at  him,  fell  upon  the  point  of 
the  sword,  which  was  buried  in  him  up  to  the  hilt. 

Alonso  drew  out  the  reeking  weapon  with  a  cry  of 
horror. 

"  Wouldst  thou  thy  life  ?"  he  asked  the  remaining  sol- 
dier. 

"  I  would  avenge  my  officer  and  my  comrades,"  an- 
swered he. 

"  Alas!  they  served  an  evil  cause,"  said  Alonso.  "  God 
refused  them  His  protection." 

The  soldier  and  the  artist  rushed  upon  each  other,  and 
Cano  would  certainly  have  had  the  advantage,  but  that 
Tricordo,  seeing  that  his  late  plan  had  failed,  and  that  there 
was  no  hope  of  bringing  Alonso  a  prisoner  before  Tarifa, 
resolved,  at  all  events,  to  render  him  incapable  of  farther 
resistance.  He  picked  up  the  dead  officer's  sword  and 
struck  Alonso's  horse  in  the  flank.  The  animal  threw  up 
its  head  and  fell,  carrying  its  rider  with  him.  Tricordo 
had  made  one  mistake,  however;  he  had  miscalculated 
the  distance;  the  horse  fell  upon  him.  The  wretch  ut- 
tered a  cry  of  agony,  which  proved  that  he  was  seriously 
injured.  Seeing  Alonso  upon  the  ground,  his  adversary 
determined  to  finish  him.  It  must  not  be  forgotten  that 


1 86  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

Alonso  had  hurt  his  foot  in  leaping  from  Milagro's  garden- 
wall.  While  on  horseback,  supported  by  his  good  steed, 
he  was  able  to  maintain  the  struggle,  but,  on  foot  and 
unable  to  stand,  he  would  inevitably  have  been  overcome. 
Instead  of  seizing  the  hilt  of  his  sword  he  grasped  it  by 
the  point.  To  stun  his  enemy  seemed  his  only  chance  of 
escape.  Just  as  the  soldier  dealt  a  blow  at  him  Alonso 
struck  him  with  tremendous  violence  upon  the  head, 
and  sent  him  rolling  into  the  dust. 

He  was  free  and  alone. 

Of  his  enemies  two  had  perished  in  the  flames  lit  by 
Tricordo;  another  was  dead  upon  the  blood-stained 
ground  beside  him.  Tricordo  was  pitifully  crying  for 
help. 

Cano  dragged  himself  over  to  the  dead  officer's  horse. 
With  the  utmost  difficulty  he  mounted  it,  seized  his 
bloody  sword,  wiped  it,  and  restored  it  to  his  belt.  Then 
he  rode  away  from  a  spot  the  aspect  of  which  filled  him 
with  indescribable  horror. 

Whither  was  he  going  ?  He  knew  not.  He  felt  the  ne- 
cessity for  flying,  still  flying,  always  flying.  He  might 
meet  peasants  or  other  wayfarers  upon  the  road.  When 
Tarifa  saw  that  his  four  soldiers  were  not  coming  back 
he  would  no  doubt  send  others  in  pursuit  of  him. 

Alonso  put  spurs  to  his  horse;  the  good  beast  went  off 
at  a  gallop,  its  mane  flying  to  the  wind,  its  jaws  covered 
with  foam.  Suddenly  Alonso  saw  the  spire  of  a  church 
arising  from  a  grove  of  ancient  trees. 

Many  of  the  monasteries  still  retained  the  right  of 
sanctuary,  the  grandest  and  most  noble  with  which  the 
middle  ages  endowed  churches  and  cloisters. 

Once  at  a  convent  Alonso  was  saved.  He  hurried  on. 
In  the  high  wall  which  protected  the  gardens — without, 
however,  obscuring  the  tree-tops — was  a  large,  broad 


BETWEEN  TWO   FIRES.  187 

gateway.  Over  this  entrance  was  the  legend,  "  Porta 
Cafi." 

"  Yes,  it  is,  indeed,  the  gate  of  Heaven,"  cried  Alonso. 

Raising  the  heavy  knocker,  he  let  it  fall  with  such  vio- 
lence that  the  timbers  shook. 


THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 
THE  CARTHUSIAN  MONASTERY. 

NOTHING  could  be  more  peaceful  than  this  great  house 
~i>f  prayer,  which  has  now  disappeared,  but  was  then 
known  by  the  sweet  name  of  Porta  Cceli.  Those  who 
crossed  its  threshold  left  behind  them  the  crushing 
burden  of  ambition  and  human  sorrows.  They  threw  off 
the  yoke  of  their  passions  to  live  in  the  holy  liberty  of 
obedience.  They  renounced  perishable  and  transitory 
goods  for  the  treasures  of  holy  poverty. 

No  tumult  of  the  world  came  hither,  save  echoes  per- 
chance of  its  disasters  or  its  shipwrecks,  which  made 
these  peaceful  dwellers  of  the  cloister  find  an  added 
sweetness  in  their  solitude  and  their  austerities.  The 
moral  and  mental  sufferings  of  those  whom  the  world 
calls  happy  is  the  best  lesson  that  can  be  given  to  the 
men  of  the  cloister,  and  the  most  indisputable  proof  that 
they  have  chosen  the  better  part. 

The  enclosure  of  the  convent  contained  the  cloisters 
and  the  monastery;  behind  the  gardens  were  broad 
waste  lands,  which  the  Carthusian  monks  had  cultivated 
and  rendered  fruitful.  When  they  were  not  at  prayer 
they  labored,  tilling  the  earth  that  it  might  bring  forth 
the  grain  and  vegetables  necessary  for  their  own  sup- 
port and  for  their  poor. 

When  Alonso  Cano,  wounded,  knocked  at  the  gate  of 
the  convent  the  monks  had  just  finished  their  prayer, 
and  were  going  from  the  cloister  to  the  refectory. 


THE  CARTHUSIAN   MONASTERY.  189 

The  brother  porter  hastily  answered  the  knock.  Only 
the  unfortunate  came  to  the  monastery  gates.  And 
whether  they  were  needy  in  pocket  or  in  mind,  they  must 
receive  succor. 

When  Brother  Eugenio  perceived  a  cavalier,  wounded 
and  bloody,  he  uttered  an  exclamation  of  pity  and  aston- 
ishment. 

"What  wouldst  thou  ?"  he  said. 

"  Hospitality,"  answered  Alonso. 

"  Enter,  my  brother,"  said  Eugenio. 

"But,"  said  Alonso,  "  I  am  unable  even  to  alight  from 
my  horse,  so  painful  are  my  wounds." 

The  brother  then  took  him  in  his  arms  and  brought 
him  into  a  little  room  which  served  as  a  porter's  lodge. 

"  And  thy  steed  ?"  said  Brother  Eugenio. 

"It  doth  not  belong  to  me.  Let  it  go  free;  its  instinct 
will  surely  bring  it  back  to  its  master's  stable." 

The  brother  then  attached  the  bridle  to  the  saddle,  and, 
as  Alonso  had  foreseen,  the  steed,  after  sniffing  the  air 
several  times,  turned  and  took  the  road  towards  Valencia. 

"  My  brother,"  said  the  religious,  "  the  fathers  are  now 
in  the  refectory.  Awaiting  their  return  wilt  thou  accept 
a  slight  collation,  or  shall  I  bring  thither  at  once  our 
good  Superior?" 

"  I  will  wait,"  said  Alonso  in  a  faint  voice. 

"Let  me  at  least  staunch  thy  wounds." 

"They  are  not  dangerous;  concern  thyself  not  with 
them,  good  brother,"  said  Alonso. 

Brother  Eugenio  nevertheless  insisted  upon  removing 
Alonso's  torn  and  stained  doublet.  He  washed  the 
wound,  and  Alonso  felt  the  greatest  relief. 

He  was,  however,  growing  very  feverish.  While  the 
struggle  lasted  he  had  scarcely  felt  the  pain  in  his  foot; 
but  now  that  the  ardor  of  battle  was  over  his  artificial 


190  THE   MONK'S   PARDON. 

strength  gave  way,  and  he  suffered  excruciating  agony, 
which  was  greatly  augmented  by  his  mental  suffering. 

Brother  Eugenio  saw  that  he  was  shivering,  and  more- 
over growing  rapidly  delirious;  he  went  for  the  Superior 
and  told  him  all  that  had  occurred. 

"  Brother,"  said  Father  Eusebio,  "  the  unfortunate  can- 
not wait;  thou  shouldst  have  informed  me  at  once." 

And  hurrying  down  with  the  holy  eagerness  of  charity, 
the  Superior  was  soon  at  Alonso  Cano's  side. 

Certainly  the  appearance  of  the  traveller  was  far  from 
prepossessing.  His  hands  were  stained  with  blood;  his 
sword,  reddened  to  the  hilt,  proved  that  it  had  rendered 
him  ominous  service;  his  face  pale,  his  eyes  wild  and 
feverish,  his  aspect  fierce,  made  him  resemble  rather  a 
criminal  pursued  for  a  crime  than  an  innocent  man  seek- 
ing refuge  beneath  the  wings  of  charity. 

Father  Eusebio  regarded  him  with  angelic  sweetness. 

"We  will  keep  thee,"  he  said. 

"  Thou  wilt  really  permit  me  to  remain  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  brother." 

"And  if  justice  demands  me?" 

"  It  has  no  right  to  enter  here,"  replied  the  monk. 

Alonso's  face  showed  his  great  relief.  Aided  on  either 
side  by  the  two  religious,  he  succeeded  in  reaching  the 
room  assigned  him. 

It  was  a  small,  whitewashed  apartment;  a  crucifix  hung 
upon  the  wall.  Its  furniture  consisted  of  a  bed,  some 
chairs,  a  table,  and  a  book.  Entering  there  Alonso  felt 
himself  in  another  world.  Once  in  bed  the  Father  In- 
firmarian  came  to  examine  his  wounds.  He  dressed 
them,  carefully  bandaged  his  foot,  and  prescribed  perfect 
rest.  Then  he  departed,  making  the  sign  of  the  cross 
over  the  patient  before  leaving  the  room.  A  young  nov- 
ice was  commissioned  to  watch  over  him  day  and  night. 


THE   CARTHUSIAN   MONASTERY.  19! 

Alonso's  clothes  were  thrown  upon  a  chair  near  the 
bed;  the  sight  of  the  blood  upon  them  affected  him  pain- 
fully, and  he  murmured  in  a  troubled  voice: 

"  Take  them  away;  take  away  all  that  recalls — " 

He  did  not  finish,  but  turned  his  face  to  the  wall,  while 
the  novice  removed  the  clothing  and  begged  one  of  the 
lay  brothers  to  wash  the  blood-stains  from  them,  and  to 
clean  the  sword  carefully.  Alonso  was  almost  asleep 
when  a  tumult  of  voices  and  the  sound  of  horses'  feet 
aroused  him  from  his  stupor. 

He  sat  up  in  bed  and  cried  out  in  terror: 

"They  are  seeking  me!  shall  I  be  given  up  ?" 

"My  brother,"  replied  the  young  novice,  "we  would 
all  perish  rather  than  betray  the  guest  of  God." 

Alonso's  head  fell  back  upon  the  pillow,  and  he  mut- 
tered feverishly: 

"  So  much  blood;  so  much  blood." 

The  unhappy  man  was  not  mistaken. 

On  sending  soldiers  to  overtake  and  capture  the  fugi- 
tive who  had  escaped  by  Milagro's  garden-wall,  Tarifa 
was  convinced  that  he  would  at  last  obtain  possession  of 
the  real  Alonso  Cano.  But,  despite  his  confidence  in  the 
sagacity  of  the  spy  Tricordo  and  the  zeal  of  the  soldiers 
and  the  alferez  who  commanded  them,  he  could  not  yet 
feel  certain  that  he  had  won  the  game. 

Turning  to  Murillo  with  a  manner  half  stern,  half  re- 
spectful, he  said  : 

"  It  is  not  for  me  precisely  to  define,  nor  yet  to  con- 
demn, the  part  thou  hast  played  in  this  matter,  Sefior 
Estaban  Murillo.  The  King  himself  must  decide  whether 
one  of  his  painters,  howsoever  high  in  favor,  may  arro- 
gate to  himself  the  right  of  making  a  mockery  of  the  law, 
and  to  mislead  it  playing  an  unworthy  comedy  in  which 
my  Lord  Aguidas  himself  was  not  ashamed  to  take  part. 


192  THE  MONK  S  PARDON. 

Thou  art  convinced  that  thou  hast  won  the  battle.  I 
think  otherwise.  Four  men  are  in  pursuit  of  the  fugitive. 
I  will  myself  set  out  with  still  more.  Either  I  shall  lose 
my  place,  or  Alonso  Cano — " 

"His  head,  sir  magistrate,"  said  Murillo  with  bitter 
irony.  "I  admit  that  the  game  is  unequal,  first  in  regard 
to  the  stakes,  and  second  in  the  means  employed.  I 
would  give  ten  judges'  places  for  Alonso  Cano's  right 
hand.  And  as  for  the  means  employed,  surely  a  dozen 
soldiers  sent  in  pursuit  of  one  poor  wounded  fugitive 
seems  to  me  but  sorry  justice." 

"  Have  a  care  how  thou  insultest  the  law!"  cried  Tarifa. 

"  Have  a  care  thyself,  Sefior  Tarifa,"  said  Murillo,  "  for 
judges  who  in  the  pursuit  of  a  criminal  seek  rather  their 
personal  advancement  than  the  interests  of  justice,  are 
not  worthy  of  the  office  they  hold." 

"  Is  that  a  personal  affront  ?"  asked  Tarifa. 

"  It  is  anything  you  like,"  said  Murillo  contemptuously; 
"  but  I  need  have  no  anxiety;  men  of  your  temper  do  not 
fight." 

"  The  duties  of  their  office  forbid,"  said  Tarifa. 

"And  their  own  cowardice  prevents,"  said  Murillo. 

Count  Aguidas  now  advanced  to  Tarifa. 

"  I  beg  of  you  to  remember,  Sefior,"  he  said,  coldly, 
"  that  Estaban  Murillo  is  my  guest,  and  that  whatever 
befalls  I  am  the  protector  of  him  whom  thou  dost  per- 
secute." 

"Ah!"  cried  Tarifa  in  a  rage,  "ye  would  both  protect 
him  ?" 

"And  God  be  our  aid,"  added  Murillo. 

After  which  the  count  and  the  artist  went  out  together, 
and  the  judge  mounted  his  horse. 

"We  will  go  in  search  of  your  comrades,"  he  said  to 
the  soldiers. 


THE   CARTHUSIAN   MONASTERY.  193 

In  point  of  fact  but  a  comparatively  short  time  had 
elapsed  between  the  moment  when  Alonso  leaped  from 
the  wall  and  that  in  which  Tarifa  himself  set  out  in  pur- 
suit. Alonso's  flight  and  his  victory  over  his  pursuers 
had  occupied  but  a  brief  space.  Hence  it  followed  that 
if  the  late  tenant  of  the  haunted  house  had  been  taken 
alive,  Tarifa  would  certainly  have  met  both  prisoner  and 
escort  before  very  long. 

He  saw  no  signs  of  them,  however,  and  he  was  begin- 
ning to  fear  that  as  Alonso  had  been  mounted  on  one  of 
Aguidas's  swiftest  coursers  he  had  given  his  pursuers  a 
long  chase.  When  he  had  passed  through  the  long  ave- 
nue of  trees  and  come  out  upon  the  open  plain,  he  sud- 
denly perceived  a  group  of  peasants  surrounding  the 
smoking  ruins  of  a  hut.  Surely  something  unusual  must 
have  transpired  there.  Tarifa  rode  over  and  made  his 
way  through  the  curious  crowd.  An  angry  exclamation 
burst  from  his  lips  when  he  beheld  the  spectacle  there 
presented  to  his  eyes.  He  had  not  a  thought  of  pity  for 
the  two  soldiers  dead  beneath  the  smoking  ruins,  nor 
yet  for  those  who  still  lived  and  were  suffering  from 
their  wounds.  All  this  was  of  little  consequence  to  him. 
But  what  really  touched  him  deeply  was  that  he  did  not 
see  the  body  of  the  fugitive  among  the  corpses. 

Some  passing  laborers  had  turned  aside  to  render  what 
assistance  they  could  to  the  Abounded.  The  soldier  who 
had  fallen  upon  the  sword  was  dying,  the  other  was 
vainly  seeking  to  staunch  his  wound  with  a  rag  in  order 
to  stop  the  flow  of  blood.  Tricordo,  whose  leg  was 
broken,  was  uttering  shrill  cries  of  pain. 

To  extricate  this  wretched  being  the  laborers  had  lifted 
aside  the  body  of  Alonso's  horse.  Tarifa,  catching  sight 
of  Tricordo,  cried  out: 


194  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

"Miserable  spy,  behold  thy  work:  four  men  killed  and 
justice  set  at  naught." 

"Ah,  Sefior,"  said  Tricordo  in  a  plaintive  voice,  "  is  it 
my  fault?  He  is  not  a  man,  but  a  devil.  I  conceived 
such  a  plan  to  ensnare  him.  I  set  the  roof  on  fire  to  roast 
the  murderer  before  bringing  him  to  thee.  That  was  a 
stroke  of  genius.  But,  unhappily,  the  roof,  instead  of 
falling  on  the  villain  fell  upon  the  soldiers.  The  idea 
was  none  the  less  ingenious,  and  yet  your  lordship  has 
no  pity  for  me.  His  cursed  horse  broke  my  leg  when  I 
was  carrying  out  a  marvellous  inspiration.  I  pierced  him 
with  a  lance  so  that  he  might  throw  his  rider." 

"  What  became  of  the  rider  ?"  cried  Tarifa. 

"He  fled,  most  illustrious  lord,  he  fled,"  whined  Tri- 
cordo; "and  had  the  indelicacy  to  deprive  me  thus  of  the 
hundred  ducats  with  which  your  excellency  would  have 
deigned  to  gratify  me.  Sancta  Virgen!  how  I  suffer. 
Your  excellency  should  pay  me  two  hundred  instead  of 
one  hundred  ducats.  Ah,  my  poor  leg,  my  poor  leg!" 

"  Have  done  with  thy  groaning,"  said  Tarifa,  "  and 
try  to  answer." 

"I  am  suffering  so  much.  Sancta  Virgen!  My  lord,  I 
am  suffering." 

"  We  will  have  time  to  pity  thee  when  we  have  found 
the  wretch  in  whose  capture  thou  art  interested." 

"Yes,  to  the  extent  of  a  hundred  ducats.  A  hundred 
ducats,  most  illustrious  lord." 

"  In  what  direction  went  he  ?" 

Tricordo  groaned. 

"Despite  my  sufferings  I  would  do  my  duty,"  said 
Tricordo;  "it  was  impossible  for  me  to  stir,  but  I  never- 
theless kept  my  eyes  open.  The  fugitive  from  the 
haunted  house,  my  lord,  after  having  disposed  of  the 


THE   CARTHUSIAN   MONASTERY.  195 

soldiers  and  reduced  me  to  my  present  state,  mounted 
another  horse,  to  which  he  gave  spurs  and  rode  off." 

"  In  what  direction  ?" 

"Straight  before  him." 

"  Then,"  said  the  judge,  "  the  rest  is  easy.  He  is 
wounded  and  cannot  go  far." 

"But,"  said  Tricordo,  "there  are  people  ill  disposed 
enough  towards  justice,  and  uncharitable  enough  to  lose 
me  my  hundred  ducats,  who  may  offer  him  hospitality." 

"  We  shall  search  houses,  villages,  and  towns,"  cried  the 
judge. 

"  Wilt  thou  pay  me  a  hundred  ducats  if  I  give  thee  a 
clue  ?"  said  Tricordo,  his  eyes  glowing  at  the  thought. 

"  I  will  give  thee  the  garote  and  thou  art  silent,"  said 
the  judge;  "  for  what  is  to  prove  that  all  this  is  not  part 
of  the  comedy,  and  that  thou  art  not  the  accomplice  of 
that  Murillo  and  Count  Aguidas?" 

"On  my  life,  by  my  baptism.  Ah!  Sancta  Virgen,  I 
betray  thee?  I  will  prove  my  sincerity  to  your  lordship. 
The  Carthusian  monastery  of  Porta  Cceli  is  upon  thy 
way,  seek  there.  That  is  the  advice  I  give  thee." 

Without  taking  time  to  answer  Tricordo,  Tarifa  cried 
out  to  the  soldiers: 

"  To  the  monastery  of  Porta  Cce/i.  And  ye,  worthy 
laborers,  carry  the  wounded  to  Valencia,  including  this 
wretch  whose  groans  are  greater  than  his  injuries.  Come 
to  me  to-morrow,  and  I  will  compensate  you  for  time 
lost." 

Tarifa  rode  on  hastily,  and  in  an  hour  perceived  the 
white  walls  of  the  convent.  He  raised  the  knocker  with 
an  agitated  hand.  Brother  Eugenio,  as  calm  and  peace- 
ful as  was  his  wont,  opened  the  gate. 

"  Brother,"  said  Tarifa,  in  a  voice  which  he  softened  as 


196  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

much  as  possible,  "did  a  wounded  traveller  enter  the 
monastery  about  an  hour  ago  ?" 

"  Several  travellers  have  asked  hospitality  of  us,"  re- 
plied the  porter. 

"  This  one  would  not  easily  be  confounded  with  the 
rest.  He  had  just  sustained  a  combat,  which  must  have 
left  traces  upon  his  clothing." 

"'Your  excellency  will  deign  to  excuse  me,"  said  the 
brother;  "my  duty  is  to  open  the  gates  to  those  who 
knock,  but  our  holy  rule  forbids  me  to  break  silence, 
save  in  cases  of  absolute  necessity." 

"  There  can  be  no  necessity  greater  than  that  of  aiding 
justice  in  its  work,"  said  Tarifa. 

"  I  am  but  an  humble  lay  brother,"  said  the  porter, 
"  thou  wilt  therefore  permit  me  to  place  the  will  of  my 
superiors  above  that  of  men,  howsoever  powerful  they 
may  be." 

"  Inform  the  Superior,  then,  that  Judge  Tarifa  desires 
to  hold  speech  with  him." 

"I  pray  thee enter  this  room,"  said  the  brother  mildly, 
"and  I  will  make  known  thy  arrival  to  him." 

Tarifa  alone  entered  the  monastery;  he  left  his  horse 
with  the  soldiers  outside  the  wall. 

Impressed  with  the  gravity  of  the  situation,  Brother 
Eugenio  proceeded  with  unusual  speed  to  the  cell  of  his 
Superior.  Having  heard  what  the  porter  had  to  say 
Father  Eusebio  assembled  all  the  monks  as  quickly  as 
possible.  He  took  his  abbot's  mitre  and  cross  and  went 
down-stairs  followed  by  the  other  religious.  At  the  door 
of  the  cloisters  he  bade  them  wait. 

"Keep  here,"  he  said,  "these  insignia  of  my  office;  I 
would  not  wear  them  in  appearing  before  Judge  Tarifa 
for  the  first  time.  If  Heliodorus  attempts  to  enter  the 
temple  of  the  Lord  it  will  then  be  time  to  display,  not  the 


THE   CARTHUSIAN   MONASTERY.  197 

pomp  which  encircles  us  but  the  majesty  of  those  powers 
which  Heaven  itself  has  bestowed  upon  us." 

Father  Eusebio  entered  the  room  alone. 

"  Reverend  father,"  said  Tarifa,  in  a  tone  of  ill-re- 
strained impatience,  "  thou  hast  received  into  thy  convent 
this  morning  a  wretch — " 

"A  great  many  poor  wretches,  my  son;  thou  speakest 
truly,"  said  the  abbot. 

"When  I  say  a  wretch  I  mean  a  criminal,  guilty  at 
first  of  the  blood  of  his  wife,  but  now,  pursued  for  that 
crime,  he  has  aggravated  the  horror  thereof  by  murder- 
ing the  soldiers  sent  by  me  to  apprehend  him  ?" 

The  monk  made  no  answer  to  this  harangue. 

"  Dost  thou  not  comprehend  what  I  desire  of  thee, 
father?"  asked  Tarifa. 

"  That  we  should  pray  for  him  ?"  said  Father  Eusebio. 
'  Ah,  doubt  not  that  our  supplications  shall  go  up  asking 
Heaven  to  have  mercy  upon  him  and  give  him  the  grace 
of  repentance  if  he  be  guilty,  or  permit  his  innocence  to 
be  made  manifest  if  innocent  he  be." 

"  It  is  to  decide  that  point  that  justice  would  fain  ob- 
tain possession  of  Alonso  Cano." 

The  abbot,  with  his  hands  folded  in  his  sleeves,  and  his 
head  bent,  listened  without  looking  at  Tarifa. 

"  Wilt  thou  give  up  this  man  to  us  ?"  asked  the  judge. 

"  My  son,"  said  the  Superior,  "this  house  contains 
many  disciples,  but  not  one  Judas." 

"  Dost  forget  that  I  speak  in  the  name  of  the  law  ?" 

"  Dost  thou  forget  that  I  represent  Christian  charity  ?" 

"It  is  thy  duty  to  give  up  this  criminal." 

"  It  is  my  duty  to  save  the  unfortunate." 

"I  requested  it  as  a  favor,"  said  Tarifa;  "I  now  de- 
mand it." 


198  THE   MONK'S   PARDON 

The  Superior  raised  his  head  and  looked  Tarifa  steadily 
in  the  face. 

"  Does  that  mean  that  thou  wilt  make  use  of  force  ?" 

"  I  will  make  use  of  it,"  said  the  judge.  "  I  have 
soldiers  without,  and  at  a  sign  from  me — " 

"  Make  that  sign  if  thou  darest,  my  son,"  said  the 
monk. 

Tarifa  rushed  out  of  the  room.  At  a  signal  from  the 
Superior  a  brother  opened  the  outer  door,  whilst  Eusebio 
rejoined  his  brethren.  He  put  on  his  mitre  and  took  his 
abbot's  cross  in  his  hands,  giving  a  sealed  parchment  to 
one  of  the  monks. 

"Thou  wilt  read  it  when  required,"  he  said. 

Tarifa  went  out  to  the  soldiers. 

"  The  criminal  is  there,"  he  said;  "ye  must  search  the 
monastery." 

The  soldiers  remained  an  instant  irresolute,  but  finally 
crossed  the  threshold,  and  stood  within  the  vestibule. 
At  the  same  moment  the  doors  flew  open  and  disclosed 
Father  Eusebio  in  all  his  peaceful  majesty. 

"Dost  expect  to  impose  upon  me  by  thy  processions  of 
monks  ?"  said  Tarifa.  "  I  desire  to  enter,  and  I  will." 

The  abbot  stretched  out  the  ivory  cross  in  his  hand  till 
it  touched  Tarifa's  doublet  and  said  : 

"Wait!" 

Then  turning  to  his  secretary  he  gave  the  order: 

"  Read,  brother  !" 

The  secretary  read  aloud  in  a  slow  and  distinct  voice 
an  ordinance  of  King  Ferdinand  of  holy  memory  grant- 
ing the  right  of  sanctuary  to  the  Carthusian  monastery 
of  Porta  Coeli,  and  authorizing  the  Church  to  strike  with 
its  thunders  whosoever  should,  in  defiance  of  this  royal 
ordinance,  attempt  to  cross  the  threshold  of  the  convent 
in  pursuit  of  a  criminal. 


THE   CARTHUSIAN    MONASTERY.  199 

"  Come  one  step  farther,"  said  the  monk,  imperiously 
addressing  Tarifa,  "and  by  virtue  of  the  powers  which  I 
hold  from  the  Holy  See  I  excommunicate  thee." 

Tarifa  turned  pale,  but  advanced  one  step. 

Father  Eusebio,  however,  addressing  the  soldiers, 
said: 

"  As  for  you,  my  children,  I  will  give  you  my  blessing." 

The  soldiers  knelt,  and  Tarifa  alone  remained  standing 

The  doors  of  the  cloister  were  closed,  and  the  judge 
said,  looking  contemptuously  at  the  soldiers,  who  arose 
after  making  the  sign  of  the  cross, 

"  Cowards  !  ye  have  deserted  me." 

"The  service  of  God  before  the  service  of  the  King  !" 
answered  they. 

The  homeward  ride  from  the  monastery  of  Porta  Call 
was  a  very  silent  one.  Tarifa  had  lost  the  game.  He 
knew  well  that  Aguidas  would  use  all  his  influence 
against  him.  The  adventure  of  the  haunted  house  would 
be  represented  as  a  foolish  and  chimerical  fancy  of  his. 
He  had  counted  upon  the  capture  of  Alonso  Cano  as  a 
ladder  to  fortune,  and  this  ladder  had  precipitated  him 
to  his  ruin. 

"Oh,"  thought  he  with  rage,  "henceforth  I  will  seek 
him  not  only  for  justice's  sake  but  to  gratify  my  own 
hatred  of  him." 

He  dismissed  the  soldiers  and  shut  himself  up  in  his 
house  in  a  state  bordering  upon  frenzy.  The  next  day 
the  episode  of  the  haunted  house  was  the  common  topic. 
Murillo  and  Aguidas  represented  it  as  a  ridiculous  esca- 
pade, for  which  Tarifa  alone  was  responsible.  In  a  few 
days  the  luckless  magistrate,  baffled,  jeered  at,  and  stung 
to  the  quick  by  the  ridicule  cast  upon  him,  resigned  his 
office  at  Valencia^  and  secretly  set  out  for  Madrid. 

Whilst  Murillo  superintended  the  hanging  of  his  pic- 


200  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

ture;  whilst  Aguidas  rejoiced  at  Capo's  safety,  which 
was  partly  owing  to  his  efforts;  whilst  Tricordo  slowly 
recovered  and  retarded  his  progress  by  frequent  bursts 
of  rage,  Cano  was  regaining  in  the  monastery  of  Porta 
Cceli  health  of  body  and  peace  of  mind. 

The  fever  which  had  been  brought  on  by  his  wounds 
and  the  various  emotions  of  that  terrible  day  on  which, 
after  having  defeated  his  pursuers  he  had  so  narrowly 
escaped  falling  into  the  hands  of  a  sacrilegious  judge, 
lasted  a  week.  Delirium  had  ensued,  and  from  his  rav- 
ings Father  Eusebio,  who,  with  the  novice  Pablo,  often 
kept  long  watches  beside  Alonso's  bed,  became  fully 
convinced  of  the  innocence  of  the  artist,  and  the  unjust 
persecution  of  which  he  had  been  a  victim. 

"Father,"  said  the  novice  to  his  Superior  once  when 
they  had  watched  Alonso  during  one  of  those  terrible 
crises  in  which  it  almost  seemed  that  he  must  die,  "  I 
confess  to  thee,  in  all  humility,  that  I  have  sometimes 
been  tempted  to  ask  whether  beyond  these  walls,  within 
which  I  have  grown  up  and  hope  to  die,  there  may  not. 
be  what  men  call  happiness.  I  bethought  myself  of 
warriors,  famous  by  their  exploits,  and  whose  swords 
have  won  crowns  for  kings;  of  the  glory  of  those  who 
make  their  thoughts,  as  it  were,  living,  and  who  endow 
the  creatures  of  their  imagination  with  immortality,  such 
as  Lope  de  Vega  and  Calderon." 

"Lope  de  Vega  became  a  monk,  my  son."  said  the 
Superior. 

"Then  I  dreamed  of  even  more  marvellous  feats  than 
these.  I  fancied  myself  struggling  against  the  ignorance 
of  some  and  the  ill-will  of  others,  the  storms  of  heaven 
and  ocean  tempests,  pushing  on  a  frail  barque  till  I  dis- 
covered a  new  world  with  which  I  endowed  my  country." 

"Christopher1  Columbus  was  a  martyr.  rnv  son." 


THE   CARTHUSIAN   MONASTERY.  2OI 

"In  a  word,  taking  them  by  turns,  soldier,  admiral, 
dramatic  poet,  I  envied  all  who  had  made  themselves  a 
name  before  men." 

"  Perchance  thou  hast  heard  the  name  of  Alonso  Cano  ?" 
said  the  abbot  again. 

"  Yes,  my  father;  encircled  with  an  aureola  which  was 
all  but  heavenly  I  know  that  he  painted  angels  and 
saints,  and  found  in  the  fervor  of  his  prayers  marvellous 
types  which  he  reproduced  upon  our  altars  to  the  edifi- 
cation of  the  faithful." 

"  Poor  boy  !"  murmured  the  Superior. 

"Thou  dost  condemn  me,  father?" 

"  Nay,  my  son,  I  scarce  can  blame  thee.  Such  thoughts, 
such  leanings  towards  the  world  are  temptations  which 
all  of  us  must  undergo,  whatsoever  our  age,  or  whatso- 
ever the  penances  we  impose  upon  ourselves.  Anthony 
experienced  in  the  wilderness  a  horror  of  the  struggle  in 
which  he  was  engaged  against  the  spirit  of  darkness. 
Jerome  in  the  deserts  remembered  the  feasts  of  pagan 
Rome.  Temptation  is  but  a  trial,  my  son,  and  proves 
our  vocation.  Blessed  are  the  tempted  if  they  close 
their  ears  against  the  false,  alluring  voices." 

"Thanks  be  to  our  Saviour  Jesus,"  said  Pablo,  "and 
to  the  merciful  Virgin;  but  though  I  have  often  expe- 
rienced such  thoughts  they  have  never  led  me  for  a  mo- 
ment to  so  far  as  to  dream  of  leaving  this  holy  house." 

This  conversation  took  place  at  the  window  of  Cano's 
cell.  The  latter  was  sleeping.  While  the  two  relig- 
ious talked  they  could  see  afar  the  delightful  fields  of 
Valencia,  intersected  by  flowering  huertas,  overtopped  by 
the  forest-covered  hill,  and  near  a  portion  of  the  monas- 
tery garden,  with  its  regular  beds  of  grass  or  immortelles, 
from  which  uprose  simple  white  crosses 

All  at  once  the  patient  started  up. 


202  THE   MONK'S   PARDON. 

"Help!"  he  cried,  "help!  They  are  pursuing  me.  Oh 
help!  Do  not  let  this  judge  take  me.  I  am  innocent ! 
God  of  justice,  Thou  knowest  I  am  innocent!  Give  me 
my  brushes.  I  saw  the  Madonna  in  my  dreams.  I  want 
to  paint  her  as  she  appeared  to  me,  with  her  blue  dr(ess, 
her  circlet  of  gold,  and  her  heavenly  look.  No!  no!  not 
canvas.  I  want  a  block  of  wood  or  marble.  I  want  a 
chisel.  I  would  fain  make  a  statue  of  a  monk.  Who 
better  than  I  can  render  the  austerity  of  the  sons  of  St. 
Francis,  their  ascetic  faces,  upon  which  heavenly  visions 
are  reflected  ?  Canvas!  marble!  I  want  to  be  at  work, 
and  if  I  die  I  want  them  to  know." 

Father  Eusebio  approached  the  bedside  rapidly  and 
laid  a  finger  upon  his  lips.  Pablo  listened,  pale  and 
breathless,  his  hands  crossed  upon  his  breast. 

"What  matters  it?  What  matters  it,  father?"  said 
the  wounded  man  in  a  more  gentle  voice;  "  I  may  well 
tell  my  name,  though  it  is  now  but  the  name  of  an  un- 
fortunate." 

Then  turning  to  the  novice  he  said: 

"  Pray  for  him  who  was  Alonso  Cano." 

The  novice  uttered  a  cry  of  surprise  and  fell  upon  his 
knees.  What !  one  of  those  whose  fortune  and  fame  he 
had  almost  envied  was  there  stricken,  pursued  by  cal- 
umny, tracked  by  justice,  stretched  upon  a  monk's  pal- 
let, hovering  between  death  and  madness.  There  was  a 
lesson  for  youth!  Pablo  approached  Alonso  and  seized 
his  hand. 

"Thou  wilt  get  well,"  he  said;  "thou  art  better  al- 
ready. Already  thou  couldst  stand  upon  thy  wounded 
leg.  Thy  fever  will  pass  away  under  our  care,  and 
soon — " 

The  sick  man  rose  upon  his  couch. 

"Wilt  thou  drive  me  hence  once  I  am  cured  ?" 


THE   CARTHUSIAN   MONASTERY.  203 

"  My  son,"  replied  the  Superior,  "  we  drive  no  one 
hence;  but  the  unfortunate  who  come  to  our  door  are 
numerous  and  the  house  is  small." 

Cano  closed  his  eyes  and  fell  back. 

"  Lord!"  said  he,  "here  are  we  well." 

And  gently  he  fell  asleep. 

In  two  days  more  he  was  up;  at  the  end  of  a  week  he 
was  able  to  walk  in  the  gardens.  Sometimes  he  left  their 
cool  shade  for  the  modest  enclosure  where  the  sons  of 
Porta  Cceli  lay  at  rest.  One  evening  after  the  office 
the  Superior  vainly  sought  Alonso  in  his  cell;  not  finding 
him  in  the  chapel  or  the  cloisters  he  went  out  into  the 
gardens,  calling  him  softly  by  name.  As  he  passed  on 
into  the  graveyard  he  discovered  him  hard  by  a  grave 
dug  in  advance  for  the  first  of  the  brothers  whom  the 
Lord  should  call  to  Himself. 

"I  fear,"  said  Eusebio  to  him,  "that  thou  wilt  fatigue 
thyself;  dost  thou  not  think  of  coming  in  ?" 

"  I  was  thinking  of  death,  father,"  said  he. 

"  Is  it  because  human  courage  has  failed  thee?" 

"  Nay,  it  is  rather  that  divine  strength  is  urging 
me." 

"  Thou  wouldst  wish  then — " 

"  To  remain  in  this  hospitable  house  forever." 

"  Strangers  pass  on  and  do  not  tarry  here." 

"  What  if  I  were  to  ask  permission  to  remain,  accepting 
in  advance  thy  holy  rule  and  promising  to  be  the  docile 
son  of- Saint  Bruno?" 

"  Hast  thou  thought  of  it  long,  my  son  ?' 

"  Since  I  have  known  thee,  father." 

The  old  man  seized  the  painter's  hand. 

"God  has  brought  thee,  my  son,"  said  he,  "desolate 
stricken,  hunted,  to  the  monastery  gates,  and  thou  art 
grateful  to  the  Samaritans  who  have  saved  thee.  But 


204  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

between  this  sentiment  and  a  vocation  there  is  a  wiae 
difference." 

"What  can  I  expect  from  the  world  ?"  cried  Cano.  "It 
took  me,  young,  ardent,  and  celebrated,  the  favorite  of  a 
king,  in  whose  presence  I  sat  with  covered  head,  like  the 
grandees  of  Spain,  and  it  cast  me,  covered  with  wounds 
and  infamy,  upon  the  roadside,  whence  thou  didst  pick 
me  up.  The  world!  To  win  rank,  a  name,  and  that 
ephemeral  thing  they  call  renown,  I  have  watched  and 
labored  unceasingly.  I  desired  that  applause  which  ac- 
companies one  in  public  places,  that  thrill  which  greets 
thee  from  a  multitude.  I  yearned  for  the  acclamations 
of  the  populace  hailing  my  work,  and  when  the  people 
prostrated  themselves  before  my  sargas  or  my  pictures 
at  the  feast  of  Corpus  Christi,  I  was  fairly  intoxicated  with 
enthusiasm,  youth,  and  vigor.  A  king  called  me  his 
friend,  Spain  saluted  me  with  the  proud  title  of  the  Ibe- 
rian Michael  Angelo.  I  did  more  than  dream  of  glory,  I 
held  its  palm  branch  in  my  hands,  and  wore  its  wreaths 
upon  my  brow.  One  drop  of  blood  washed  out  that 
glory,  those  dreams,  that  renown;  the  great  artist  was 
deemed  a  murderer;  judges  pursued  him  in  whose  studio 
Philip- IV.  had  so  lately  sat.  I  was  forced  to  fly  from 
hatred  and  calumny.  It  was  horrible,  father,  to  see  men 
who  had  a  motive  for  my  ruin,  and  whose  personal  ad- 
vancement depended  on  my  imprisonment,  hunting  me 
like  hounds.  Can  I  therefore  regret  anything  in  a  world 
which  has  thrown  blood  and  dirt  in  my  face?  Can  I  wish 
to  return  among  men  from  whom  I  have  received  such 
cruel  injuries  ?" 

"The  severity  of  thy  trial  leads  thee  to  exaggerate," 
said  the  Superior;  "all  whom  thou  hast  known  could  not 
have  been  thus  false  and  cowardly." 

"  Nay,  thou  art  right,  father.    Miguel,  my  heroic  pupil, 


THE   CARTHUSIAN   MONASTERY.  20$ 

has  devoted  himself  to  the  triumph  of  my  cause,  but 
Miguel  is  very  young  and  all  his  devotion  has  been  so 
far  in  vain.  His  companions  to  the  last  moment  pro- 
tected Alonso  Cano.  Murillo,  the  brave  and  chivalrous 
Murillo,  saved  me  from  Tarifa's  hands  as  before  Miguel 
from  those  of  Resales.  But  I  am  weary  of  defending  my 
liberty;  take  it,  I  will  yield  it  to  thy  holy  rule." 

Father  Eusebio  seemed  to  be  reflecting  deeply. 

"  Misfortune  alone  has  brought  thee  here,"  he  said  at 
length.  "  111  health  has  impoverished  thy  blood  and  di- 
minished the  ardor  of  thy  nature.  Who  knows  but  that 
health  may  bring  back  thy  youth,  and  that  a  few  months 
passed  in  this  house  will  convince  thee  that  thou  art  des- 
tined to  live  in  the  world.  Were  I  to  consult  my  own 
heart  and  the  interests  of  our  house  I  would  say  to  thee, 
Remain.  I  would  give  thee  this  garb  of  poverty,  which 
would  make  thee  forever  our  brother.  But  a  secret  in- 
stinct warns  me  that  thou  wilt  leave  us.  Let  me  then 
unite  the  prudence  of  a  director  with  the  affection  of  a 
father.  Remain  with  us  as  long  as  thou  findestthe  place 
to  thy  taste,  and  if  ever  these  walls  seem  to  thee  too  nar- 
row remember  that  thou  leavest  here  friends  whose  heart 
and  arms  are  ever  open  to  thee." 

Alonso  made  no  reply.  He  felt  that  there  was  wisdom 
in  what  Father  Eusebio  said. 

In  fact  gratitude  and  enthusiasm  had  an  extraordinary 
influence  upon  his  impressionable  nature,  and* his  first 
impulse  which  led  him  to  rush  into  the  cloister  might  be 
one  that  he  would  regret.  He  spoke  unreflectingly. 
Just  then  the  fervor  of  his  soul  was  in  unison  with  the  in- 
clination of  his  heart.  Whilst  highly  approving  of  what 
Father  Eusebio  said,  he  was  still  convinced  that  he  would 
never  desire  to  leave  this  ark  of  refuge  where  he  found 
the  repose  after  which  he  had  aspired  in  vain.  He 


ao6  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

believed  himself  forever  done  with  dreams  of  worldly 
honor  and  with  ardent  aspirations.  Sorrow  had  purified 
him.  The  atmosphere  of  the  cloister  had  poured  a  salu- 
tary dew  upon  his  arid  heart.  He  had  absorbed  this 
new  and  hidden  life,  so  full  of  a  secret  charm,  known 
only  to  those  who  have  experienced  its  delights.  He 
had  fallen  asleep,  so  to  say,  in  this  place  of  infinite  peace, 
and  the  chanting  of  the  psalmody  and  the  full  chords  of 
the  organ  transported  him  farther  and  farther  into  an- 
other world. 

He  thanked  Father  Eusebio,  and,  Insisting  upon  the 
sincerity  of  his  vocation,  declared  that  time  would 
strengthen  instead  of  weakening  it. 

"  I  accept  the  probation,"  said  he;  "  how  long  will  it 
last?" 

"  Two  years,"  said  Father  Eusebio. 

"  And  meanwhile  thou  wilt  permit  me  to  wear  the 
garb  of  my  brethren  ?" 

"I  will  permit  it  if  thou  findest  consolation  therein." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Alonso  Cano  eagerly,  "  it  will  seem  to 
me  that  thenceforward  I  am  utterly  dead  to  a  world  which 
has  misunderstood,  forsaken,  and  insulted  me,  and  to 
which  I  should  blush  to  be  bound  by  any  ties  of  perish- 
able ambition." 

Father  Eusebio  raised  his  hand  to  give  Alonso  his 
blessing,  but  something  like  a  melancholy  and  incredu- 
lous smile  played  over  his  pale  lips. 


THE   STATUE   OF  ST.   FRANCIS.  2Of 


CHAPTER  XfV. 
THE  STATUE  OF  ST.  FRANCIS. 

THE  days  glided  by  for  Alonso  Cano  in  the  Carthusian 
monastery  like  the  ripples  upon  a  peaceful  river  flowing 
towards  the  sea.  The  river  loses  itself  in  the  ocean,  and 
the  soul  moves  on  to  the  infinity  of  the  eternal. 

Alonso  submitted  readily  and  of  his  own  accord  to  the 
holy  rules,  the  full  severity  of  which  Father  Eusebio  did 
not  yet  impose  upon  him.  He  found  repose  after  his 
work  in  prayer;  or,  having  joined  in  the  magnificent 
psalms  of  the  office,  he  returned  to  his  cell  and  sought  to 
reproduce  upon  canvas  the  figures  of  patriarchs,  proph- 
ets, or  sibyls.  His  soul  seemed  to  expand  under  this 
holy  influence,  and  his  mind  to  gain  new  inspirations. 
Sorrow  had  crushed  that  once  indomitable  spirit;  faith 
was  now  gradually  restoring  it.  Alonso  felt  himself  to 
be  in  a  haven  of  safety,  and  asked  but  one  favor  of  God: 
that  he  might  never  leave  it. 

He  was  universally  beloved  in  the  community.  The 
secret  of  his  dramatic  entrance  there  had  not  transpired. 
The  accusation  of  murder  under  which  he  lay  was  not 
known  to  any  except  Father  Eusebio  and  Pablo.  The 
rest  knew  not  for  what  reason  Tarifa  had  demanded 
him;  though  had  they  known  it  they  would  not  have 
shown  less  indulgence  towards  him. 

Charity  alone  inspires  such  perfect  compassion.  Human 
kindness  never  suffices  for  certain  misfortunes,  or  for  cer- 
tain repentance.  The  sight  of  the  cross  enables  us  to  bear 
all  burdens,  our  own,  and  those  of  our  brethren- 


208  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

Alonso  Cano's  life  was  then  as  tranquil  as  that  of  the 
Carthusians;  he  rose  with  them  for  matins,  went  to  the 
choir,  assisted  at  Mass,  and,  shutting  himself  up  in  his 
studio,  passed  the  great  part  of  the  day  there. 

Even  his  talent  seemed  to  have  undergone  a  transfor- 
mation. Hitherto  he  had  painted  his  saints  and  mar- 
tyrs with  a  sort  of  factitious  inspiration;  but  now  the 
constant  presence  of  men  vowed  to  the  practice  of  aus- 
terities and  to  holy  poverty,  living  upon  the  earth  in- 
deed, but  letting  their  souls  forever  soar  into  the  glories 
of  Paradise,  gave  him  a  wider  conception  of  certain  se- 
crets of  expression,  certain  truthfulness  of  attitude,  so 
that  he  touched  the  emaciated  faces  of  his  hermits  with 
a  light  which  art  alone  could  never  supply. 

The  more  Christian  he  became  the  more  firmly  ht 
walked  in  that  road  upon  which  he  had  hitherto  but  tot- 
tered, the  more  intimately  did  he  learn  the  secret  of  true 
greatness,  of  sublime  works,  and  of  heavenly  inspira- 
tions. 

Instead  of  reading  the  poets  he  studied  the  lives  of  the 
saints.  He  had  never  understood  before  to  what  heights 
divine  love  can  raise  souls.  The  first  time  he  read  the 
verses  of  St.  Francis  of  Assisium  he  felt  a  strange  tu- 
mult in  his  soul.  It  was  a  revelation.  These  divine 
flowers  left  within  him  a  perfume  which  was  never  to 
die  away.  He  read  and  reread  them  till  he  knew  them 
by  heart. 

His  conversation  was  full  of  this  new  and  beautiful 
character  thus  revealed  to  him.  He  sought  to  penetrate 
more  and  more  the  mystery  of  charity  which  had  filled 
that  soul,  so  ardent  that  it  found  not  enough  scope  in 
man,  but  extended  even  to  nature,  and  embraced  it  in  a 
close  embrace  of  mingled  admiration  and  ecstacy.  He 
read  eagerly  and  with  deep  emotion  those  legends 


THE   STATUE   OF   ST.    FRANCIS.  209 

which  show  us  the  gentle  St.  Francis  preaching  to  a  fe- 
rocious wolf  of  charity  towards  lambs,  or  giving  advice, 
full  of  a  simple  poetry,  to  grasshoppers,  and  taming  one 
of  these  charming  insects  till  it  made  its  home  in  a  fig 
tree  hard  by  the  convent,  where  it  hummed  its  little 
nooutide  song. 

Alonso  was  never  weary  of  admiring  the  tender  com- 
passion of  the  saint  who,  not  having  wherewkh  to  pur- 
chase an  innocent  lamb  fiom  the  butcher,  begged  till  he 
had  procured  the  ransom  of  the  unoffending  creature, 
and  confided  it  to  the  religious  of  St.  Claire. 

But  it  was  especially  in  his  long  walks  through  the 
cloisters  or  wnen  meditating  in  his  cell  that  he  felt  the 
full  sense  of  that  sublime  poetry  which  gushed  from  the 
neart  of  Francis  of  Assisium,  rather  like  a  flame  thar 
like  a  thought. 

Those  admirable  lines,  "Love  hath  cast  me  into  a  fur> 
nace,"  awoke  such  an  echo  within  Cano's  artist  soul  and 
exercised  so  powerful  an  influence  upon  him  that  he  was 
ready  to  accept  all  the  austerities  of  the  cloister,  provided 
only  he  could  remain  therein  forever.  For  a  whole 
month  he  worked  in  his  studio  in  the  deepest  recollec- 
tion, permitting  none  of  the  monks,  not  even  Father 
Eusebio,  to  cross  its  threshold.  The  work  upon  which  he 
was  then  engaged  was  of  his  soul  rather  than  of  his  genius. 
Like  Fra  Bartholomeoand  Angelico  da  Fiesole,  he  knelt 
before  working,  till  his  work  seemed  but  a  continuation 
of  his  prayer. 

He  felt  that  he  could  not  express  his  own  conception 
of  what  should  be  the  expression  upon  the  face  of  that 
little  figure  he  was  at  work  upon.  Yet  never  was  inspi- 
ration truer  and  more  heartfelt  placed  at  the  service  of  a 
noble  idea. 


2IO  THE   MONK'S   PARDON. 

One  morning  the  artist  knocked  at  Father  Eusebio's 
cell. 

"  Thou  didst  promise  me,"  he  said,  "  that  some  day 
thou  wouldst  permit  me  to  wear  the  habit  of  thy  Order, 
unworthy  though  I  be  of  so  great  a  grace.  I  know  not 
why  I  have  a  feeling  that  the  work  I  have  just  completed 
will  obtain  me  this  longed-for  happiness." 

"  Thou  art  then  sure  of  thy  vocation,  Alonso  ?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  sculptor. 

"  No  tie  binds  thee  to  the  world  ?" 

"None." 

"Well,  if,  as  thou  sayest,  I  should  this  very  day  experi- 
ence a  sentiment  of  pious  joy  at  sight  of  thy  statue  just 
completed,  I  promise  thee  that  to-morrow  thou  shalt  take 
the  habit  of  a  novice." 

"  How  much  longer  will  it  be  before  I  am  professed  ?" 
asked  Alonso. 

"  Six  months,"  replied  Father  Eusebio. 

Alonso  then  bent  his  head  for  the  monk's  blessing. 

After  their  repast  of  black  bread  and  vegetables  stewed 
in  water,  which  was  the  ordinary  fare  of  the  Carthusi- 
ans, the  abbot  and  the  other  religious  repaired  to  Alon- 
so's  studio. 

Cano,  remembering  the  art  with  which  he  had  of  old, 
in  his  house  at  Madrid,  arranged  his  pictures  and  statues, 
hung  one  end  of  his  cell  with  black  the  better  to  throw 
out  his  work. 

While  waiting  for  the  monks,  whose  rule  and  habit  he 
was  soon  to  adopt,  he  threw  a  light  veil  over  the  finished 
statue;  and,  his  heart  full  of  emotion  and  his  eyes  wet 
with  tears,  he  awaited  their  arrival.  Meanwhile  he  looked 
out  from  the  high,  narrow  casement  to  where,  far  below, 
among  shrubs  and  flowers,  crosses  marked  the  graves  of 
those  who  slept  in  the  peace  of  God. 


THE   STATUE   OF   ST.   FRANCIS.  211 

Father  Eusebio  at  last  opened  the  cell  door  and  en- 
tered, followed  by  the  monks  and  novices. 

When  all  had  taken  their  places  Alonso  threw  off  the 
veil  which  concealed  his  work,  and  showed  a  medium- 
sized  statue  of  painted  wood.  It  was  the  figure  of  St. 
Francis  of  Assisium,  chiselled  with  the  perfection  of 
art.  Never  had  artist  rendered  in  fashion  more  admira- 
ble and  more  complete  the  union  of  prayer  and  asceti- 
cism upon  a  human  face. 

There  was  nothing  studied  in  the  attitude  of  the  saint, 
and  the  stiffness  in  the  lines  of  the  figure  only  threw  into 
stronger  relief  the  divine  inspiration  resplendent  upon 
the  face.  The  robe  fell  in  straight  heavy  folds  over  the 
sandalled  feet;  this  habit  of  serge  was  confined  at  the 
waist  by  a  rope.  The  hands  were  folded  in  the  ample 
sleeves,  and  the  hood  framed  the  face,  which  was  actu- 
ally living.  There  was  fire  in  the  ecstatic  gaze  fixed 
upon  Heaven;  there  was  a  breath  upon  those  lips,  whence 
seemed  to  arise  hymns  which  were  an  echo  of  Paradise. 
An  intense,  supernatural  life  vivified  that  pale  face;  no 
aureola  surrounded  the  head,  yet  a  beatific  crown  seemed 
to  hover  above  him  who  was  deemed  worthy  to  bear  in 
his  hands,  feet,  and  side  the  sacred  Stigmata  of  Christ. 

Nothing  in  antique  art,  nothing  among  the  myriads 
of  exquisite  creations  which  marked  the  two  preceding 
centuries,  was  comparable  to  this  statue  of  St.  Fran^ 
cis  of  Assisium,  as  it  came  forth  marvellous  and  com- 
plete from  the  most  Christian  of  inspirations. 

Father  Eusebio  could  not  restrain  a  cry  of  admiration 

"  It  is  beautiful,"  he  said,  "  truly  beautiful." 

"I  had  many  models,"  said  Alonso. 

"  But  no  one  sat  for  this  statue." 

"You  all  unconsciously  sat  for  it,  father,"  said  Alonso; 
"the  atmosphere  which  surrounds  me  raised  me,  en- 


fl2  THE   MONK'S   PARDON. 

tranced  me,  carried  me  out  of  myself.  I  caught  the  se- 
cret of  that  wonderfully  peaceful  attitude  when  I  saw, 
motionless  in  their  prayerful  recollection,  monks  whose 
eyes  were  raised  with  that  same  ardor  to  Heaven.  Never 
in  my  worldly  existence  could  I  have  conceived  or  ren- 
dered what  here  I  have  found  and  interpreted  almost 
without  effort." 

Father  Eusebio  turned  to  his  brethren. 

"  For  some  time,"  said  he,  "  the  author  of  this  work 
has  sought  admittance  to  our  holy  Order.  My  paternal 
affection  is  now  at  length  in  accord  with  my  admira- 
tion. Still  I  ask  all  of  you  to  advise  me.  Should  we  ac- 
cept him  as  a  new  member  of  the  community  of  Porta 
Cceli  ?" 

"  His  artistic  renown  is  only  equalled  by  his  reputation 
lor  piety,"  said  one  father. 

"  Let  him  be  our  brother,"  said  another,  "  his  genius 
&nd  his  faith  are  alike  shown  in  this  work." 

Pablo,  the  young  novice,  advanced  timidly. 

"Father  Eusebio,"  said  he,  "beg  of  him  to  teach  us 
the  secret  of  his  art,  that  one  day  we  may  reproduce  in 
immortal  stone  the  marvellous  epic  of  the  life  of  St. 
Bruno." 

The  monks  surrounded  Alonso,  manifesting  for  him  so 
fraternal  an  affection,  so  enthusiastic  a  welcome,  that  it 
brought  tears  of  emotion  to  the  eyes  of  one  who,  stricken 
by  the  world,  received  consolation  and  relief  which  was 
almost  triumphant  from  those  who  had  given  up  earth 
for  Heaven. 

Only  one  religious  was  silent.  He  was  an  old  man, 
nearly  a  century  old.  He  had  been  blind  for  twenty 
years.  A  young  novice  who  was  deputed  to  watch  over 
him  guided  him  through  the  cloisters  or  along  the  garden 
paths.  He  had  come  with  his  brethren  into  Alonso's  stu- 


THE   STATUE   OF   ST.    FRANCIS.  213 

dio,  and  hearing  their  applause  of  the  work,  desired  in 
his  turn  to  examine  and  appreciate  it. 

"  Lead  me,"  he  said  to  his  young  conductor,  "  over  to 
the  statue.  Though  unable  to  see  it  I  can  by  feeling  ap- 
preciate it  somewhat,  and  I  shall  then  enjoy  with  the  rest 
of  you  the  pleasure  of  admiring  a  beautiful  work  which 
is  truly  Christian." 

The  novice  brought  the  blind  monk  to  the  pedestal 
upon  which  rested  the  statue  of  St.  Francis,  and  the  old 
man  feeling  it  carefully  slowly  drew  his  fingers  over 
every  line  of  it.  When  he  touched  the  ecstatic  counte- 
nance of  the  patron  of  Assisium  his  own  face  at  first 
showed  only  deep  thought,  then  a  real  joy. 

"  It  is  beautiful,"  said  he;  "  more  than  that,  it  is  sub- 
lime." 

Alonso  knelt  before  the  old  man. 

"  Bless  me,"  he  said,  "and  since  thy  brethren  in  religion 
have  deigned  to  accept  me  as  an  humbly  postulant  do 
them  likewise  lend  me  thy  voice." 

The  old  monk  let  his  hands  rest  upon  Alonso's  bowed 
head  and  seemed  to  be  wrapped  in  fervent,  prayer.  His 
eyelids  drooped  over  the  sightle'ss  eyes,  his  lips  moving, 
he  called  down  upon  the  man  prostrated  before  him  the 
light  of  the  spirit  of  consolation. 

Absorbed  in  himself,  the  blind  monk  appeared  to  hold 
communion  with  a  being  invisible  to  all  others.  Instead 
of  addressing  the  artist  in  affectionate  words,  which 
would  seem  called  forth  by  his  late  appeal,  the  old  man 
appeared  filled  with  a  species  of  terror.  The  expression 
of  his  face  changed.  A  deep  sadness  overspread  it.  Its 
usual  calm,  especially  when  in  prayer,  gave  place  to 
something  like  horror.  With  an  almost  mechanical  move- 
ment he  passed  his  hands  over  the  hair,  shoulders,  and 
arms  of  Alonso,  and  when  he  spoke  it  was  in  a  tone 


214  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

such  as  prophets  might  have  used  when  making  known 
irreparable  misfortunes. 

"Not  yet,"  cried  he,  "not  yet.  Wait,  my  son,  until 
the  last  wave  of  bitterness  has  passed  over  thy  head. 
All  thy  tears  and  anguish  have  not  yet  paid  the  penalty 
which  God  exacts  of  thee.  Privileged  soul,  thou  shall 
mount  the  last  steps  of  thy  Calvary." 

Alonso  Cano  shuddered  at  the  touch  of  the  monk, 
whose  hand  now  rested  heavily  upon  his  shoulder. 

"I  understand,"  continued  the  old  man;  "it  seems  to 
thee  that  thy  trial  has  already  been  greater  than  that 
which  Heaven  usually  inflicts  upon  men.  Thou  wert 
great,  thou  art  cast  down;  thou  wert  happy,  and  thy 
happiness  was  snatched  from  thee.  Thou  art  poorer 
than  Job,  more  afflicted  than  Tobias.  Tears  have  dried 
thy  eyes  and  withered  up  thy  heart,  so  that  it  could  only 
revive  beneath  the  dew  of  the  Cross,  and  yet  it  is  not 
enough.  Before  the  indissoluble  vows  bind  thee,  before 
we  have  recited  over  thee  the  prayers  for  the  dead,  be- 
fore the  name  of  a  new  elect  of  Heaven  has  replaced  that 
once  famous  amorlg  men,  thou  shall  suffer — thou.  shall 
suffer  more.  Blood  !  ah,  Lord,  so  much  blood  !  fetlers 
and  irons,  torture  for  these  limbs  !  Mercy,  Lord,  mercy 
for  him  !  Or,  if  Thine  adorable  decrees  must  be  carried 
out,  give  Thy  hapless  creature  at  least  the  strength  to 
adore  Thee  in  his  martyrdom." 

"My  God  !  my  God  !"  murmured  Alonso,  terrified; 
"  thou  who  with  thy  sightless  eyes  seesl  farther  than 
this  world,  tell  me,  Musi  I  one  day  leave  this  house  ?" 

"  Thou  shall  leave  il !"  said  ihe  monk. 

"  Before  pronouncing  my  vows  ?" 

"Yea,  before." 

"  Shall  I  never  belong  to  the  Lord  ?" 

"Yes,"  replied  the  old  man,  "but  the  wheat  must  be 


THE   STATUE   OF  ST.   FRANCIS. 

threshed,  the  grape  be  trodden  in  the  press.  If  thou 
comest  forth  victorious  from  thy  latest  trial,  if  thou  bear- 
est  the  last  wound  of  thy  martyrdom,  then  only  shalt 
thou  win  thy  robe  of  serge.  The  gold  must  pass  through 
the  crucible." 

"  Then,"  said  Alonso,  "  thou  wouldst  reject  me  ?" 

"Arise,"  said  the  monk,  "arise  !" 

The  artist  obeyed,  and  the  old  man,  taking  him  in  his 
arms,  said  : 

"  My  son  !  my  son  !  I  shall  see  thee  again  before  I 
die  !" 

Two  great  tears  fell  from  his  sightless  eyes,  and  Alonso 
sobbed  in  his  arms.  The  memory  of  his  past  sorrows, 
which  for  some  months  had  seemed  to  slumber  in  his 
heart,  now  re-awoke  with  terrible  distinctness.  The  pre- 
dictions of  the  blind  monk  touched  him  deeply.  He  could 
not  help  believing  his  terrible  words,  and  it  seemed  to 
him  that  when  the  time  of  trial  came  he  should  lack  the 
necessary  courage  for  it.  The  Superior  himself  appeared 
painfully  impressed,  and  the  monks  who,  a  moment  be- 
fore, rejoiced  at  counting  Alonso  among  their  number, 
were  oppressed  with  a  dark  foreboding. 

Nevertheless,  Father  Eusebio  said  to  the  artist: 

"  If  thou  dost  persist  in  thy  demand,  thou  wilt  take 
the  habit  in  a  month." 

"  Be  thou  blessed  for  these  words  !"  answered  Alonso, 
touching  the  hem  of  the  monk's  robe  with  his  lips. 

The  Carthusians  quitted  the  studio  one  by  one,  and 
the  blind  monk  was  the  last  to  press  Alonso's  hand. 

"  The  trial  will  be  hard  !"  he  said,  "  but  thou  shalt 
come  forth  triumphant." 

The  artist  was  alone.  It  seemed  to  him  that  in  that 
short  interval  everything  around  him  had  changed.  The 
prophetic  voice  of  the  old  monk  sent  him  back  to  tho 


THE   MONK'S   PARDON. 

midst  of  his  calamities.  He  had  supposed  himself  in 
port,  and  the  storm  was  about  to  rage  more  furiously 
than  ever.  He  had  not  the  courage  to  go  to  the  chapel 
with  his  brethren  in  whose  chanting  he  had  joined  so 
heartily  the  day  before.  He  remained  for  hours  motion- 
less, his  arms  resting  upon  his  window-sill. 

Thence  he  could  see  great  portions  of  the  road  leading 
to  Valencia,  and  by  leaning  out  could  follow  the  dusty 
path,  making  an  abrupt  turn,  and  ending  at  the  ruined 
hut  which  had  been  the  scene  of  his  combat  with  the 
soldiers  of  Tarifa  and  his  miserable  spy. 

As  he  thus  gazed  out  of  the  window  he  perceived  a 
horseman  coming  at  full  speed  in  the  direction  of  the 
monastery.  Neither  his  figure  nor  his  face  was  distin- 
guishable. An  ample  cloak  hid  the  one  and  a  broad  hat 
concealed  the  other,  yet  a  thrill  passed  through  Alonso 
as  if  between  him  and  that  mysterious  horseman  there 
existed  an  invisible  link. 

Still  under  the  influence  of  the  blind  Carthusian's  proph- 
ecy, the  slightest  incident  seemed  to  have  some  bear- 
ing on  his  life.  Had  there  been  some  question  of  life  or 
death  for  him  in  the  greater  or  less  speed  of  the  advanc- 
ing traveller  Alonso  could  not  have  watched  him  with 
greater  anxiety. 

When  at  a  short  distance  from  the  monastery  the 
horseman  paused  and  cast  a  rapid  glance  about  him,  as 
if  studying  the  aspect  of  the  convent  and  its  high  walls, 
and  comparing  it  with  some  description  which  had  been 
given  him.  Apparently  satisfied  with  his  scrutiny  the 
traveller  urged  on  his  horse,  and  Alonso  perceived  with 
growing  uneasiness  that  he  rode  to  the  gate  of  Porta 
Cali. 

He  knocked  twice,  the  gate  rolled  back  upon  its 
hinges,  and  the  stranger  entered  the  holy  precincts. 


THE  STATUE   OF  ST.    FRANCIS.  217 

Alonso  closed  his  window  and,  scarcely  knowing  why, 
fell  upon  his  knees,  while  his  clasped  hands  rested  against 
the  pedestal  which  upheld  the  statue  of  St.  Francis. 

In  a  few  moments  the  cell  door  opened,  and  the  travel- 
ler stood  upon  the  threshold.  He  cast  aside  his  hat  and 
mantle  with  a  hasty  gesture,  and  Alonso  recognizing 
him,  gave  a  cry  of  mingled  hope  and  joy. 

"  Miguel !"  he  cried,  "  Miguel !" 

"Did  I  not  tell  theethat  I  would  return,  master?"  said 
Miguel. 

"  To  Spain,  certainly,  but  here — " 

"  I  undertook  a  task,  which  I  pursued." 

"  Noble  boy  !"  cried  Alonso,  "  thou  hast  sacrificed  thy- 
self for  a  most  miserable  man." 

"  Do  not  say  that,  master !  do  not  say  that !"  cried 
Miguel;  "never  was  there  a  more  consoling  part  to  play 
than  mine,  despite  all  the  difficulties  which  I  had  to 
encounter.  And  behold  how  the  Lord  hath  protected 
me,  for  am  I  not  once  more  in  Spain  ?" 

"  I  believed  thee  still  at  Naples,  busy  with  the  pursuit 
of  a  wretch  whose  name  would  soil  my  lips." 

"  Yes,  master  !  I  have  been  for  nearly  two  years  the 
evil  genius  of  Lello  Lelli.  Following  him  like  his 
shadow  I  went  from  tavern  to  tavern,  my  eyes  never 
left  him.  Even  in  the  common  and  public  life  I  was 
always  at  his  side,  masked  like  a  conspirator,  armed  like 
a  brigand.  Such  a  life  as  I  have  led  for  the  past  two 
years!  How  far  removed  from  this  adventurous  exist- 
ence seemed  the  studious  times  of  old.  However,  I  did 
not  lose  my  time.  My  portfolio  is  fairly  swelling  with 
notes,  and  I  have  made  innumerable  sketches,  which  I 
may  use  some  day  if,  like  Frank  Floris,  I  paint  hell 
or  the  fallen  angels.  Thou  mayest  suppose,  master,  that 
Lello  Lelli  was  not  to  be  met  in  the  best  circles  of 


218  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

Neapolitan  society.  I  was  not  mistaken  in  him.  I  found 
him  at  the  head  of  a  score  or  so  of  rascals,  the  best  of 
whom  would  not  be  worth  the  cord  that  strangled  him. 
They  use  the  stiletto  for  the  benefit  of  Ribera  who  still 
reigns  over  his  school,  less  like  a  master  than  a  tyrant. 
I  passed  many  a  night  around  a  table  covered  with 
bottles,  while  Lello  drank  to  intoxication." 

"  And,"  said  Alonso,  "  did  the  wretch  never  betray  him- 
self ?" 

"No,"  said  Miguel,  "and  yet  I  discovered  a  terrible 
clue." 

"Speak  !  speak  !"  said  Alonso,  seizing  Miguel's  hand. 

"  One  evening,"  began  Miguel,  "  in  a  "tavern,  full  of 
revellers,  sailors,  painters  of  a  low  class,  and  other  such, 
a  dispute  arose  for  a  very  trifling  cause.  The  question 
was,  whether  the  hair  of  the  Venetians,  of  that  artificial 
red  so  appreciated  amongst  them,  offered  to  the  painter 
of  contrasts  as  fine  lights  and  shades  as  hair  of  a  natural 
hue.  Some  contended  that  the  reflection  was  the  same, 
others  upheld  the  contrary.  When  Lelli's  opinion  was 
asked  he  smiled,  and  said  with  a  peculiar  expression: 

"  '  I  never  saw  really  beautiful  hair  except  in  Spain.' 

"This  led  to  a  fresh  dispute,  each  one  maintaining  his 
point,  till  Lelli,  pushed  to  the  wall,  pulled  out  of  his 
pocket  a  little  scent-bag,  whence  he  drew  forth  a  tress  of 
blue-black  hair.  O  master,  master !  thy  lost  wife  alone 
had  hair  of  that  peculiar  hue  and  of  that  marvellous 
length.  When  the  other  young  men  advanced  to  look  at 
it  I  advanced  with  the  rest.  I  wore  a  velvet  mask,  so 
that  Lelli  could  not  recognize  me. 

"  I  touched  the  tress,  and  withdrawing  my  hand  with 
a  horror  which  was  not  at  all  feigned,  I  said: 

"  '  That  hair  belonged  to  a  dead  person.' 

"  Lelli  shuddered  visibly.     Then  fixing  upon  him  my 


THE  STATUE  OF  ST.   FRANCIS.  219 

eyes,  which  seemed  to  glare  through  the  holes  in  my 
mask,  I  continued: 

"  '  To  a  woman  who^was  murdered  ! ' 

"  There  was  a  cry  of  terror  from  the  spectators. 

"  '  He  is  a  sorcerer  ! '  said  one. 

"  '  He  is  the  devil !  '  said  another. 

" '  One  thing  is  certain,'  said  Lelli,  putting  his  hand  to 
his  belt,  '  that  I  consider  his  words  an  insult.' 

"  '  I  did  not  say  that  thou  wert  the  murderer,'  said  I. 
4  But  I  draw  my  sword  in  turn.'  " 

"  Go  on,"  said  Alonso  feebly. 

"  Ah  !  that  time,  master,"  said  Miguel,  "thou  wert  not 
there  to  prevent  the  duel,  and  hadst  thou  been  present 
I  doubt,  spite  of  the  respect  which  I  bear  thee,  whether 
thine  influence  would  have  been  powerful  enough  to 
restrain  me.  For  my  anger  at  that  moment  led  me  to  do 
an  act  of  justice." 

Alonso  turned  deadly  pale  as  Miguel  resumed. 

"  We  were  face  to  face,  both  armed,  both  glaring  at 
each  other  with  eyes  of  fire;  threats  were  upon  our  lips, 
and  yet,  with  a  sort  of  prudence  which  neither  of  us 
could  have  defined,  we  hesitated  to  utter  them.  I  felt 
oddly  reluctant  to  cry  out  to  Lelli,  Thou  art  the  man  ! 
Perhaps,  he  would  have  been  stricken  like  David  when 
the  prophet  Nathan  reproached  him  with  his  double 
crime.  Lelli,  on  the  other  hand,  seemed  full  of  im- 
patience to  know  what  hidden  mystery  lay  beneath  my 
words.  He  dared  not  ask,  and  it  appeared  to  him  the 
simplest  course  to  kill  me,  and  thus  secure  my  silence 
in  case  I  had  any  suspicions.  Admitting  that  I  spoke  at 
hazard,  a  life  more  or  less  weighed  so  little  upon  his 
mind  that  he  would  have  had  no  scruple  in  adding  me 
to  the  list  of  his  victims.  For  my  part  I  had  no  desire 
to  kill  him.  What  I  wanted  was  to  have  his  life  in  my 


220  THE   MONK  S   PARDON. 

power,  at  the  point  of  my  dagger,  my  foot  at  his  throat. 
To  kill  him  in  a  duel,  pierce  him  through  and  leave  him 
lying  speechless  and  senseless  upon  the  pavement  would 
be  of  little  avail.  Wouldst  thou  not  still  have  remained 
under  an  accusation  which  is  slow  torture  to  thee  ?  It 
was  plain  then  that  I  must  vanquish  him.  However,  I 
gave  him  a  last  chance. 

" '  Wilt  thou,'  I  asked,  '  give  up  to  me  that  tress  of 
black  hair,  which  is  of  such  an  extraordinary  length  that 
it  cannot  be  real  ? ' 

"  '  I  never  will !  '  he  answered. 

"  '  Art  thou  afraid  ?'  I  asked. 

"  '  Of  what  ? '  said  he  arrogantly. 

"  '  Come,'  said  I,  '  on  leaving  Spain  I  travelled  through 
France,  and  in  France  they  are  fond  of  sorcerers.  I 
admit  that  it  is  not  right.  What  they  do  is  damnable, 
and  there  is  so  much  deviltry  mixed  up  with  it  that  the 
tribunals  have  great  reason  to  concern  themselves  about 
the  infamous  means  employed  by  these  people  to  gain 
occult  knowledge.  But,  evil  or  not,  such  a  science  exists; 
the  compact  which  they  make  with  Satan  gives  them  a 
power  the  price  of  which  is  their  salvation,  and  this  power 
they  wield  in  this  world,  till  the  law  chastises  them  by  tor- 
ments and  hell  drags  them  "into  its  gulf.  Now  in  Paris, 
whilst  I  lived  there,  I  knew  a  man  versed  in  the  secrets  of 
witchcraft.  He  had  learned  these  secrets  from  his  mother 
who  had  been  duly  convicted  of  magic  and  burned  as  a 
witch  on  the  Place  de  Greve.  He  declared  to  a  friend  of 
mine  who  was  curious  about  such  matters,  of  which  I 
must  confess  I  have  the  greatest  dread — that  it  sufficed 
for  him  to  obtain  a  lock  of  hair  belonging  to  any  person 
living  or  dead,  and  that  he  could  tell  his  whole  life  and 
history.  The  vital  fluid  still  remains,  he  said,  in  the 
capillary  tissues  after  the  person  to  whom  the  hair  be- 


THE   STATUE   OF   ST.   FRANCIS.  221 

longed  has  ceased  to  exist.  I  know  not  why  that  tress 
of  blue-black  hair  inspires  me  with  such  an  eager,  mor- 
bid curiosity.  Give  it  to  me,  then,  that  I  may  satisfy 
this  fancy,  or  know  that  I  will  pierce  thy  heart  with  the 
point  of  my  sword  to  snatch  it  from  thee.' 

"  Lello  Lelli  returned  the  litde  bag  to  his  doublet,  and 
•said: 

'"On  guard!' 

"  I  raised  the  sword  as  if  to  salute  some  one. 

'"I  call  upon  thee,  Mercedes,'  I  said  gravely. 

"I  had  scarcely  time  to  cross  swords  with  him.  Lello 
made  a  thrust,  and  had  I  not  leaped  backwards  I  would 
have  been  pierced  through  and  through.  Thou  mayest 
juppose  that  after  such  preliminaries  the  combat  was 
necessarily  mortal.  What  I  had  said  to  Lello  was  true 
in  all  respects.  I  lought  for  Mercedes,  for  that  dead 
Isdy  who  took  thy  honor  with  her  into  the  tomb.  I 
begged  her  to  be  my  aid  since  my  cause  was  sacred.  I 
regarded  myself  rather  as  an  executioner  than  as  a 
duelist.  It  seemed  to  me  that  the  Almighty  must  grant 
me  the  life  of  a  wretch  whose  confession  could  exonerate 
thee.  A  circle  had  formed  around  us.  There  was  a 
vague  impression  among  the  spectators  that  there  was 
something  more  in  the  affair  than  the  apparently  futile 
matter  of  a  lock  of  hair.  I  felt  myself  endowed  with  an 
almost  superhuman  strength.  After  this  first  surprise 
I  returned  Lelli's  thrusts  with  equal  address  and  much 
greater  coolness.  His  mode  of  attack  was  like  that  of  a 
bandit.  He  rushed  upon  me  like  a  tiger  and  ground  his 
teeth  like  a  hyena.  His  sword  gleamed  like  lightning. 
I  was  apparently  calm  despite  my  secret  anxiety.  A  mo- 
ment's hesitation  and  I  was  lost.  My  eyes  were  riveted 
upon  him.  Anger  had  mounted  to  his  brain  and  crim- 
soned his  face.  He  had  that  feeling  which  is  always 


222  THE  MONK'S   PARDON. 

dangerous  for  a  duelist,  that  he  was  eager  to  end  mat- 
ters. 

"  Most  of  those  present  honored  me  with  their  evident 
sympathy;  perhaps  they  felt  that  I  was  avenging  many 
an  injury. 

"Gradually  the  circle  of  spectators  had  however  wid- 
ened. Some  of  the  new-comers  did  not  seem  like  the 
usual  habituh  of  the  tavern.  The  glances  which  they 
cast  upon  me  were  not  reassuring.  I  guessed  that  Lelli 
had  both  friends  and  accomplices  among  them. 

"All  at  once  Lelli  by  a  hasty  movement  let  the  little 
bag  fall.  I  sprang  forward,  and  whilst  I  set  my  foot 
upon  that  tress  of  hair,  which  to  my  mind  was  proof  suf- 
ficient to  convict  him,  my  arm  seemed  to  grow  preter- 
naturally  long,  and  I  pierced  Lelli's  doublet  with  the 
point  of  my  sword.  I  drew  it  away  red.  Lelli  fell  upon 
the  'floor.  The  new-comers,  whose  lowering  looks  I 
had  remarked,  surrounded  me  in  a  threatening  fashion. 
The  witnesses  to  the  quarrel  prepared  to  take  my  part, 
while  the  landlord  and  his  serving  people  bore  away  the 
wounded  rixan,  in  whom  no  one  seemed  to  have  any 
interest.  The  opposing  parties  were  hastily  looking  to 
their  arms,  when  all  at  once  happily  there  was  a  cry  of 
'  Police! f 

"It  needed  nothing  more;  in  an  instant  the  room  was 
empty.  I  then  hastened  to  Lelli's  bedside.  A  monk  had 
preceded  me  there.  There  was  foam  upon  Lelli's  lips, 
he  seemed  scarcely  breathing,  and  the  death  rattle  was 
heard  in  his  throat. 

"  The  monk  looked  at  me  severely. 

" '  This  is  no  place  for  thee,'  he  said. 

" '  I  crave  thy  pardon,'  said  I,  '  but  I  would  know — ' 

"  '  If  he  pardons  thee? ' 


THE  STATUE   OF  ST.   FRANCIS.  22J 

" '  No.  He  is  not  of  those  who  pardon  or  who  forget 
I  want  to  hear  if  he  will  confess — ' 

"'What?' 

"'His  crime!' 

" '  That  is  the  secret  of  God,  my  son.' 

"'And  the  secret  of  death,'  said  L 

" '  Thou  would'st  then — ' 

"  'Remain  here.' 

"  '  Till  he  is  cured? ' 

"'Ay,  or  till  he  expires.' 

"  '  What  if  the  sight  of  thee  by  nourishing  his  wrath 
should  prevent  him  from  repenting?' 

"  '  He  cannot  repent  without  confessing.' 

"'What?' 

"'A  crime,  I  tell  thee,  a  crime  for  which  another  is  in 
danger  and  in  exile.' 

"'Thou  hast  proofs  then  of  this  man's  guilt?' 

"  '  I  have  one  already.' 

"I  showed  him  the  tress  of  hair,  and  added: 

" '  His  delirium  may  supply  others,  and  thou  wilt  hear 
them  with  me.' 

"  The  old  monk  rose. 

"  '  I  swear  before  God,'  said  he, '  that  henceforth  I  con- 
sider myself  this  man's  confessor.  My  heart  and  soul  as 
a  priest  are  open  to  his  avowals  and  to  his  dying  con- 
fidence. Hence  I  adjure  thee  to  quit  his  bedside.' 

"'Father,'  I  said,  'thou  dost  forget  the  hapless  man 
who  is  waiting  and  suffering.' 

"  The  old  man  returned  to  his  prayers,  and  I  sat  down 
close  by  Lelli's  bed. 

"  His  face  was  of  a  livid  paleness,  his  eyes  were  closed. 
Sometimes  his  lips  moved,  and  a  sound  came  through 
them  which  I  took  to  be  '  Mercedes.' 

"The  monk  never  ceased  praying  a  moment,  seeking  to 


224  THE   MONK'S   PARDON. 

snatch  from  hell  that  deeply  stained  soul,  and  watching 
over  his  earthly  tenement,  whilst  I  kept  guard  for  the 
sake  of  justice." 

"Ah,  what  devotion,  what  devotion!"  cried  Alonso. 

The  young  man  respectfully  pressed  his  master's 
hand. 

"It  was  but  discharging  my  debt  of  gratitude,"  said  he. 

"What  next?"  said  Alonso. 

"Twenty  days  passed  thus,"  continued  Miguel,  "and 
during  those  twenty  days  the  monk  struggled  to  save 
the  body  from  death  and  the  soul  from  damnation  of  a 
wretch  whom  I  longed  to  deliver  into  the  hands  of  the 
law.  And  when  Lelli  opened  his  eyes  and  saw  me  beside 
him  with  the  monk  he  smiled  ironically,  knowing  that 
his  secret  was  well  guarded.  As  soon  as  he  could  rise 
he  left  the  inn.  I  had  learned  nothing  new;  I  had  only 
obtained  this  solitary  clue." 

As  he  spoke  Miguel  drew  from  his  pocket  the  little 
bag. 

Alonso  Cano  took  it  with  a  trembling  and  convulsive 
hand.  He  had  scarcely  courage  to  open  it  and  display 
a  tress  of  hair  of  a  black  like  the  bluish  wing  of  a  swal- 
low. He  put  it  to  his  lips,  crying  out  through  tears, 
"Mercedes,  Mercedes!" 

After  a  short  pause,  he  asked: 

"Art  thou  certain  thou  hast  found  no  other  proof?" 

"I  believe  more  firmly  than  ever  that  the  criminal  will 
not  go  unpunished,  master." 

"  Wherefore  ?" 

"Lello  Lelli  arrived  in  Spain  a  month  since." 

"  He  has  dared  to  reappear  ?" 

"There  is  no  one,  as  thou  knowest,  to  accuse  him 
openly;  besides  he  is  now  protected  by  one  who  is  all- 
powerful  with  Philip  IV." 


THE  STATUE   OF  ST.   FRANCIS.  22$ 

"  Who  is  that  ?" 

"  Ribera." 

"Lo  Spagnoletto  at  Madrid  ?" 

"And  high  in  favor,"  said  Miguel. 

Alonso's  head  fell  upon  his  breast. 

"  Thou  wilt  be  alone,  all  alone,"  said  he  slowly  to 
Miguel,  "in  thy  struggle  against  two  wretches  whom 
Judge  Resales  will  uphold;  alone  in  unmasking  Lelli, 
alone  in  laying  such  a  snare  for  him  as  even  the  most 
wary  sometimes  fall  into.  And  this  wretch,  who  could 
assassinate  a  defenceless  woman,  will  not  fail  to  attempt 
a  second  crime  upon  thee." 

"It  is  because  I  feel  my  weakness,"  said  Miguel,  "that 
I  came  here,  master.  I  will  not  depart  without  thee." 

"  What,  thou  wouldst — " 

"  That  thou  dost  return  with  me." 

"  But  I  am  accused,  placed  under  the  ban  of  the  law  ! 
If  I  am  arrested  before  thou  hast  found  proof  of  my 
innocence,  I  am  lost." 

"  Thou  shalt  not  be  arrested.     Thou  hast  friends  !" 

"  The  unfortunate  have  no  friends." 

"  Alonso  Cano  has  many,"  said  Miguel,  "  and  amongst 
them  the  most  devoted,  as  well  as  the  most  powerful  of 
us  all,  offers  thee  an  asylum  in  his  house." 

"  Rafael  Sanguineto  ?" 

"  Thou  hast  guessed  it,  master." 

"  But  such  imprudence  is  almost  madness.  A  magis- 
trate." 

"  The  less  reason  to  fear !  Who  would  seek  thee 
under  the  roof  of  the  regidor?" 

"  No,  no,  it  cannot  be,  Miguel;  persecution  would  foL 
low  me  even  there." 

"  It  has  found  thee  even  here!" 


226  THE   MONK'S   PARDON. 

"  Judge  Tarifa  was  powerless  to  cross  the  threshold  of 
this  house  to  snatch  me  hence." 

"  Tarifa  is  now  in  correspondence  with  Rosal6s.  Thou 
didst  make  seven  pictures  here  which  by  their  perfection 
betrayed  thee,  as  thy  works  in  the  gallery  of  the  Count 
Aguidas  denounced  thee  before.  Believe  me  thy  danger 
is  as  great  near  Valencia  as  it  was  at  Madrid.  Thou 
and  I  will  see  each  other  every  day;  we  will  concert  our 
plans;  we  will  make  truth  triumph,  and  the  wretch  who 
has  blighted  thy  life  will  expiate  his  misdeeds  by  torture. 
Thy  innocence  once  proved,  thou  wilt  be  once  more  the 
great  Alonso  Cano.  Philip  IV.  will  compensate  thee 
for  thy  long  probation;  the  prestige  of  thy  misfortunes 
will  enhance  that  of  thy  genius,  and  the  Michael  Angelo 
of  Spain,  an  object  of  universal  admiration,  will  forget 
all  that  to-day  he  believes  it  impossible  to  forget." 

Alonso  began  to  pace  his  cell  with  rapid  strides. 

"  Oh  noble  and  valiant  heart  !"  he  said,  "  thou  art 
right.  It  is  Providence  who  brings  Lelli  back  to  the 
theatre  of  his  crime.  Only  at  Madrid  is  it  possible  for 
me  to  complete  thy  work  and  prove  to  all  that  the  tears 
shed  over  my  dead  Mercedes  were  not  hypocritical  tears. 
Oh,  to  traverse  again  and  be  able  to  hold  up  my  head  in 
those  streets  which  have  erstwhile  seen  me  so  proud  and 
happy,  on  terms  of  intimacy  with  the  proudest  grandees 
of  Spain  who  were  my  friends,  hearing  from  the  King 
the  assurance  of  his  friendship!  Oh,  to  recover  a  portion 
at  least  of  the  goods  snatched  from  me  by  Lelli.  Ah, 
what  a  victory  it  would  be!" 

"  Let  us  win  it  together,  master!"  cried  Miguel. 

Alonso  Cano  did  not  answer;  his  eyes  fell  upon  the 
statue  of  St.  Francis,  sculptured  with  so  much  inspira- 
tion, and  so  enthusiastically  admired  a  few  hours  before 
by  the  monks  of  Porta  Cxli. 


THE  STATUE  OF  ST.   FRANCIS.  22? 

He  remembered  how  he  had  begged  of  Father  Eusebio 
permission  to  remain  in  the  solitude  and  peace  of  the 
monastery.  Now  when  he  was  about  to  abandon  that 
cell  in  which  he  had  known  holy  resignation,  fervor  in 
prayer,  and  the  consolations  of  faith,  he  felt  a  strange 
perturbation  in  his  soul.  No  doubt  he  was  profoundly 
touched  by  the  thought  of  being  cleared  of  the  crime 
which  had  sullied  his  reputation;  but  the  idea  of  seeming 
ungrateful  to  those  who  had  received  him,  the  apprehen- 
sions which  had  before  seized  him  of  being  thrust  back 
into  the  furnace,  made  him  shrink  from  the  ordeal. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  I  have  suffered  too  much.  I  will  stay 
here." 

A  moment  before  the  cell-door  had  opened  to  admit 
Father  Eusebio,  who  stood  silently  upon  the  threshold. 

"Go,"  said  he,  "go  my  son;  the  struggle  is  beyond 
thy  strength.  Besides,  remember  the  words  of  the 
saintly  old  man  who  this  morning  declared  that  the  hour 
of  rest  in  God  had  not  yet  come  for  thee.  Thy  soul  is  too 
disturbed,  thy  mind  too  full  of  resentment,  for  thee  yet 
to  offer  it  to  God;  the  victim  struggles  under  the  sacrifi- 
cial knife,  and  to  enter  here  thou  must  be  in  advance  a 
corpse." 

"Father!  father!"  cried  Alonso. 

"  If  it  be  the  will  of  God  that  thou  shouldst  consecrate 
thy  life  and  thy  talents  to  His  service,  He  will  prepare  the 
means  necessary  to  bring  about  this  result.  However 
thou  mayest  decide  remember  that  thou  hast  friends 
here  who  will  pray  for  thee  every  day." 

Alonso  made  a  last  feeble  effort  at  resistance,  but  it 
was  indeed  a  feeble  one. 

Father  Eusebio  was  right.  Alonso,  attracted,  capti- 
vated, by  the  sweetness  of  the  monastic  life,  was  not  yet 
ready  to  accept  it  entirely.  He  would  willingly  have 


228  THE   MONK'S   PARDON. 

practised  its  austerities,  but  he  shrank  from  certain  sac- 
rifices that  he  had  to  make. 

Father  Eusebio  had,  however,  to  use  all  his  influ- 
ence and  even  authority  to  induce  Alonso  to  depart  with 
Miguel.  It  was  finally  decided  that  both  should  leave  at 
nightfall.  Miguel  retained  his  cavalier  costume  and 
Alonso  passed  for  his  groom. 

Miguel  had  left  horses  in  waiting  at  an  inn  near  Va- 
lencia, and  when  night  came  Alonso  with  tearful  eyes 
quitted  the  friendly  shelter  of  Porta  C<zli. 

Just  as  he  was  leaving  the  old  blind  monk  stretched 
out  his  hands  to  him. 

"  Thou  wilt  come  back,"  said  he;  "  thou  wilt  return  to 
the  ark,  stricken,  crushed  by  sorrow,  and  so  bent  beneath 
the  weight  of  thy  cross  that  thou  wilt  lack  the  strength 
to  rise.  Yes,  thou  wilt  return,  but  next  time  to  depart 
no  more;  for  then  shah  thou  judge  of  the  things  of  earth 
from  such  a  height  that  thou  wilt  desire  to  contemplate 
thenceforth  only  the  things  of  Heaven." 


THE  FEAST  OF  CORPUS  CHRISTI.  229 


CHAPTER  XV. 
THE  FEAST  OF  CORPUS  CHRISTI. 

IT  was  the  day  of  the  Christian  and  Spanish  festival, 
by  excellence,  when  all  the  pomp  of  earth  is  displayed  tc 
honor  the  divinity  of  Jesus,  hidden  under  mystic  veils 
Nothing,  even  in  France,  can  give  any  idea  of  these  so- 
lemnities  in  the  noble  city  of  Madrid,  especially  at  an 
epoch  when  faith  flourished  like  a  gorgeous  flower  which 
shed  its  perfume  over  a  whole  people.  It  was  not  only 
the  altar  that  was  resplendent  with  the  fire  of  the  diamonds 
enriching  the  Remonstrance;  it  was  not  only  the  altar  that 
sparkled  with  its  golden  chandeliers  and  its  ostensoriums, 
or  the  retablos  with  their  carved  figures  that  gleamed  and 
glowed  in  the  light  of  innumerable  tapers.  The  portals 
were  almost  as  magnificent  as  the  chancel;  the  streets, 
hung  with  costly  draperies,  were  as  sumptuous  as  the  ca- 
thedral. Here  and  there  upon  the  line  of  the  procession 
pictures  by  celebrated  painters  awaited  at  once  the  bless- 
ing of  the  priest  and  the  acclamations  of  the  populace. 
Immense  canvases  called  sargas  unrolled  their  holy  epics 
and  their  mystic  symbols  upon  the  flag-decorated  houses. 
The  people  thronged  the  streets  while  waiting  to  enter 
the  church.  The  balconies  were  filled  by  crowds  of  de- 
vout, attentive  worshippers  elegantly  attired,  less  from 
love  of  display  than  to  do  honor  to  the  festival.  The 
flower-beds  stripped  of  their  contents  filled  vases  and 
baskets  with  their  luxuriant  gleanings. 

The  bells  rang  out  in  grand  accord;  processional 
crosses  of  silver,  abbatial  crosses,  banners  of  convents, 


230  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

confraternities,  and  civic  corporations  were  displayed 
high  in  air.  Afar  could  be  seen  carved  and  gilded  reli- 
quaries to  be  devoutly  borne  on  the  shoulders  of  Levites 
or  young  men  of  the  town.  Statues  of  saints  richly  at- 
tired were  carried  upon  litters.  Madonnas  in  robes  of 
brocade  shone  in  the  sunshine;  the  natural  hair  fastened 
upon  their  head  was  crowned  with  a  diadem  towards 
which  each  lady  contributed  a  diamond.  And  shining 
down  upon  the  multitudes  of  superbly  dressed  men  and 
women  with  their  veils  of  rare  lace,  upon  reliquaries, 
upon  the  gilded  or  painted  figures,  some  of  solid  gold, 
upon  silken  embroidered  banners,  upon  streets  strewn 
with  rushes  and  roses  from  the  royal  gardens,  was  the 
brilliant,  joyous,  fervid  sun  of  Spain. 

There  was  unusual  stir  and  bustle  in  the  dwelling  of 
Rafael  Sanguineto.  The  exterior  decoration  of  the  house 
was  just  completed.  The  miradors,  hung  in  purple  silk, 
permitted  the  ladies  to  look  out  upon  the  procession  from 
behind  their  shelter.  In  a  high  chamber  fitted  up  as  a 
studio  sat  the  host  and  his  guest,  Alonso  Cano. 

"  Never  will  I  permit  such  an  act  of  folly  on  thy  part," 
said  Sanguineto;  "  for  the  six  months  during  which  thou 
hast  been  in  Madrid  thou  hast  had  patience  and  courage 
enough  to  conceal  thyself  from  all  eyes.  This  prudence 
has  had  its  reward;  none  suspects  thy  presence  here,  and 
with  Miguel  thou  canst  follow  every  detail  of  the  search 
which  is  being  made  in  thy  behalf." 

"No,"  said  Alonso, ."  I  am  not  free  enough." 

"  Thou  seest  Miguel  each  day." 

"  True,  but  thou  wilt  not  permit  me  to  accompany 
him." 

"  Hear  me,"  said  Sanguineto,  "  if  thou  takest  but  a 
single  step  in  the  street  thou  art  lost." 

"  Ah  !"  said  Alonso,  "  this  captivity  oppresses  me.     To 


THE  FEAST  OF  CORPUS  CHRISTI.  23! 

know  that  I  am  in  Madrid  and  but  a  few  paces  from  the 
house  wherein  I  dwelt  with  Mercedes,  and  yet  that  I  dare 
not  cross  the  threshold  of  that  home  where  I  experi- 
enced all  the  sweetness  of  love  and  gratified  pride;  to 
see  from  this  window  the  palace  of  the  King  and  be 
afraid  even  to  approach  it;  above  all,  to  hear  the  bells 
of  the  cathedral  ring,  and  be  unable  to  mingle  with  the 
pious  throng  who  follow  the  Corpus  Chnsti,  and  bow  down 
to  receive  the  blessing  of  the  priest." 

"  Thou  hast  still  another  motive,  Alonso." 

"  I  admit  it.  I  have  exhibited  a  picture  around 
which  it  would  seem  a  crowd  will  gather.  How  oftet 
the  multitude  have  applauded  my  works  displayed  upon 
the  cathedral  steps.  For  a  long  time  I  have  practiced 
my  art  like  a  criminal,  hiding  my  productions  away  in 
obscure  galleries,  and  burying  them  in  monasteries.  Weil, 
to-day  my  canvas  is  displayed  living  and  luminous;  the 
multitude  will  see  it,  hail  it  as  of  yore,  and  I  shall  not 
be  there  to  enjoy  my  triumph." 

"  Go  not  thither,  Alonso;  one  gesture,  one  exclamation 
might  betray  thee." 

"  I  will  be  still,  Sanguineto,  I  will  be  still." 

"  Thou  canst  not  answer  for  thyself,  and  I  half  regret 
having  allowed  the  exhibition  of  this  work  at  all." 

"  There  is  no  name  to  it." 

"  It  is  the  touch  of  the  master  and  not  the  letters  of 
his  name  which  makes  him  known  to  the  populace." 

"Oh  I  beg  of  thee,"  said  Alonso  imploringly,  "do  not 
oppose  me  thus.  Thou  dost  not  know  what  it  is  to  be  a 
fugitive,  weary  and  worn,  threatened  on  all  sides.  I  need 
air  and  liberty.  I  feel  that  the  tumult  of  an  active,  joy- 
ous multitude  will  expand  my  heart  and  soul.  Remem- 
ber how  long  I  have  been  deprived  of  such  festivals,  of 


232  THE   MONK'S   PARDON. 

religious  pomp,  of  solemnities  of  all  kinds.  Are  they 
not  to  play  an  auto  *  of  Calderon  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Sanguineto. 

"And  wouldst  thou  keep  me  here  shut  up  in  the  house 
whilst  a  multitude  thrilling  with  enthusiasm  are  ap- 
plauding the  work  of  our  first  dramatic  genius?  Calde- 
ron, who  was  my  friend,  has  produced  a  new  piece,  and 
shall  I  not  be  there  to  applaud  it,  and  from  my  hidden 
corner  enjoy  it  with  all  my  heart?  Such  deprivation  is 
more  than  I  can  bear.  Knowest  thou  the  name  of  this 
new  piece,  Sanguineto  ?" 

"  The  '  Devotion  to  the  Cross.'  " 

"I  must  and  will  see  this  sacramental  play.  It  seems 
to  me  that  the  soul  of  Spain  lives  in  these  productions, 
which  all  literature  envies  us,  and  which  none  has  yet 
imitated.  Calderon  having  once  been  a  soldier  retains 
in  his  works  the  fiery  ardor  of  the  warrior  struggling  for 
his  master.  His  faith  raises  him  above  this  world  of 
ours.  He  looks  down  upon  this  earth  which  he  has  de- 
spised, but  above  his  head  is  always  a  glimpse  of  Heaven, 
where  angels  are  singing;  a  mystical  rose  half  opened,  a 
sun  of  justice  and  of  love  shining  upon  groups  of  the  elect. 
I  shall  see  the  '  Devotion  to  the  Cross,'  Sanguineto,  and 
without  peril  to  myself." 

"  How  ?" 

"Lend  me  a  penitent's  dress." 

Sanguineto  shook  his  head. 

"Why  dost  thou  hesitate  ?"  said  Alonso;  "the  city  of 
Madrid  will  soon  be  full  of  penitents,  gray,  black,  white, 
red,  blue,  or  purple,  all  so  enshrouded  by  their  habits 
and  hidden  by  their  cowls  that  a  father  could  not  recog- 
nize his  own  son.  Thanks  to  this  costume,  which  casts  a 

*  Auto,  a  sort  of  religious  drama. 


THE  FEAST  OF  CORPUS  CHRISTI.  233 

sort  of  monastic  shadow  over  such  numbers  of  men,  I  can 
conceal  myself  in  the  crowd.  I  should  be  wearing  the 
Carthusian  habit;  instead  I  will  assume  a  penitent's 
dress." 

"Alonso,"  repeated  Sanguineto  in  a  troubled  voice, 
"  by  yielding  to  thee  I  make  myself  the  accomplice  of 
thy  imprudence.  God  is  my  witness  that  I  do  not  fear  for 
myself;  and  howsoever  dearly  I  might  have  to  pay  for 
the  hospitality  I  offer  thee,  would  still  hold  myself  hon- 
ored that  thou  didst  accept  it.  But  canst  thou  answer 
for  thyself  ?  Mayest  thou  not  come  face  to  face  with 
Rosales,  who  accuses  thee,  and  Lello  Lelli,  who  would 
desire  nothing  better  than  thy  condemnation  ?" 

"  Whatever  may  befall,"  said  Alonso,  "  I  promise  to 
keep  possession  of  my  faculties." 

Sanguineto  exhausted  every  argument:  Cano  refuted 
them  with  more  passion  than  logic,  and  the  regidor  at 
length  yielded  to  his  friend's  entreaties  and  provided 
him  with  the  gray  dress  of  a  penitent.  Miguel  appeared 
soon  after. 

"What  news?"  asked  Alonso. 

"  I  have  discovered  Ribera's  motive  in  coming  to 
Madrid." 

"  What  is  that  motive  ?" 

"  It  entails  the  ruin  of  Don  John  of  Austria." 

"  Ribera  is  then  busying  himself  with  affairs  of  state, 
and  comes  here  as  an  ambassador." 

"  Lo  Spagnoletto  could  not  govern  his  own  household. 
In-  his  foolish  pride  he  was  honored  by  the  attentions 
of  a  prince,  and  now  comes  to  denounce  him  to  the  King, 
and  so  avenge  his  daughter." 

"  In  that  case,"  said  Alonso,  "  Don  John  of  Austria  may 
well  fear  for  his  life.  Lello  Lelli  and  others  such  will 
offer  their  sinister  services." 


234  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

The  young  man  suddenly  perceived  the  penitent's 
robe  thrown  upon  a  chair.  His  face  clouded. 

"Master,"  said  he,  "  thou  didst  promise  never  to  leavrf 
this  house." 

"  For  this  one  day,  Miguel,  for  less  than  a  day!" 

"  It  is  still  too  much,  far  too  much." 

"  Oh  my  friend,  my  child,  I  am  stifling  in  the  solitude 
to  which  I  have  been  condemned  for  four  years  past.  I 
feel  the  need  of  being  once  more  amongst  men.  I  am 
convinced  that  the  seeing  of  this  procession  will  be  of 
incalculable  benefit  to  me.  When  I  kneel  to  receive  the 
blessing  of  the  priest,  it  will  be  like  a  new  baptism." 

"  Let  me  at  least  go  with  thee  !"  said  Miguel. 

"  Yes,  my  friend,  joyfully  !" 

The  sound  of  bells,  pealing  out  loudly  and  joyously, 
fell  upon  the  air;  from  afar  came  the  chanting  of  lita- 
nies and  snatches  of  hymns.  Atonso  threw  on  his  peni- 
tent's robe  with  feverish  haste,  and  prepared  to  set  out. 

This  dress  was  not  a  monastic  habit,  but  a  sort  of 
religious  livery.  Those  who  wore  it  practiced  works  of 
charity  during  the  year.  Some  took  care  of  the  sick, 
others  buried  the  dead;  there  was,  one  might  say,  a  con- 
fraternity of  penitents,  answering  to  every  affliction  of 
body  or  soul.  These  men  in  Spain,  Italy,  and  Southern 
France  devoted  themselves  each  to  a  special  sorrow. 
The  color  of  their  robe  distinguished  them  one  from  the 
other  on  occasions  of  ceremony;  the  cowl  which  almost 
completely  covered  their  faces,  but  which  could  be 
thrown  back  at  pleasure,  made  them  all  resemble  spec- 
tres. 

Miguel  and  Alonso,  in  his  garb  of  gray,  went  out  of 
the  regidor's  house.  At  the  very  first  step  which  he 
took  in  the  decorated  streets,  strewn  with  flowers,  gay 
with  banners,  Alonso  felt  himself  transported  back  to 


THE  FEAST  OF  CORPUS   CHRISTI.  235 

the  days  of  his  youth.  The  blood  coursed  freely  through 
his  veins,  a  new  fire  burned  in  his  eyes. 

He  observed  the  sargas  displayed  for  the  feast,  and 
whose  greater  or  less  success  was  to  have  so  important  a 
bearing  upon  the  life  of  the  young  artists  who  had 
painted  them.  He  breathed  again  the  perfume  of  roses, 
jasmine,  and  of  incense  ;  he  was  wonder-stricken  and 
stirred,  as  if  he  beheld  all  the  pomp  of  the  procession  for 
the  first  time.  His  heart,  crushed  as  it  was  by  his  afflic- 
tions, shared  in  the  tumultuous  joy  of  the  populace. 

Each  people  must  be  judged  in  its  own  surroundings, 
under  its  own  sky,  and  without  regard  to  its  neighbors. 
The  originality  of  each  nation  is  composed  of  divers 
elements.  In  Spain,  we  find  but  two  predominating 
sentiments:  complete,  absolute,  almost  excessive,  chival- 
rous honor  and  faith.  Not  a  hesitating  faith,  mingled 
with  many  other  sentiments,  hidden,  so  to  say,  in  the 
depths  of  the  soul,  but  a  robust,  ardent,  enthusiastic 
belief.  A  faith  which  delights  in  public  manifestations, 
which  places  the  crucifix  not  only  upon  the  altar,  but  at 
every  cross-road,  and  in  every  thoroughfare.  A  domestic 
faith,  if  such  an  expression  can  be  used,  which  unites 
that  sentiment  with  every  action  of  life,  and  makes  it 
apparent  even  in  its  very  costume  and  language;  which 
mingles  with  its  pleasures,  and  creates  for  its  grandest 
celebrations  a  class  of  dramas  unique  in  literature,  called 
sacramental  autos. 

Certainly  Calderon's  new  piece,  the  "  Devotion  to  the 
Cross,"  was  not  the  least  attraction  of  the  day.  This 
representation  served,  so  to  say,  as  the  prologue  to  the 
pious  ceremony  of  the  procession.  Having  heard  the  re- 
cital of  the  wonders  which  Heaven  ceases  not  to  operate 
in  favor  of  those  who  honor  the  sacred  sign  of  the 


236  THE   MONK'S   PARDON. 

Redemption,  Christians  were  necessarily  led  to  invoice 
it  with  redoubled  fervor. 

Calderon,  who  gave  up  the  sword  for  the  service  of 
the  altar;  Calderon,  the  most  poetic  of  the  galaxy  of 
dramatists,  who  gave  to  Spain  Lope  de  Vega  and 
Alarfon,  from  whom  Corneille  borrowed  his  Menteurt 
had  the  power,  in  a  greater  degree  than  any  one  else,  of 
raising  faith  to  enthusiasm.  His  genius  hovered  in  all 
its  brilliancy  over  each  of  his  conceptions.  The  under- 
current of  a  noble  and  generous  passion  ran  through 
every  scene  of  his  dramas.  Honor  displayed  there  al1" 
its  Castilian  pride,  and  punctiliousness  and  faith  led 
men  to  martyrdom. 

The  autos  of  Calderon  and  Lope  de  Vega  cannot  in 
any  sense  be  compared  to  the  mysteries  represented  in 
France  a  century  or  two  before.  These  mysteries  were 
but  poor  and  feeble  attempts  at  that  which  in  Spain 
found  its  full  perfection. 

Spain  has  not  borrowed  anything  from  other  nations. 
Living  her  own  life,  rich  in  an  inexhaustible  mine  of 
genius  and  inspiration,  she  reached,  almost  at  once,  per- 
fection in  various  arts.  But  the  generous  spark  which 
then  vivified  her  was  suffered  to  languish,  and  she  was 
condemned  to  see  it  die  out  for  want  of  food;  hence, 
without  transition,  she  fell  from  the  pinnacle  she  had 
attained  into  the  gulf  of  oblivion. 

Everything  seemed  to  bloom  at  once  in  that  wonderful 
country.  While  Miguel  Cervantes  related  with  subtle 
irony  the  adventures  of  the  last  Knight  of  Spain,  "  The 
Tisserand  of  Segovia,"  the  "Secret  Offence,"  and  "Se- 
cret Vengeance,"  all  magnificent  dramas,  the  beauty  of 
which  has  never  been  surpassed,  drew  crowds  to  the 
theatre.  Whilst  Cervantes'  book  was  read,  and  the 
dramas  of  Calderon  were  being  performed,  Murillo  was 


THE   FEAST  OF  CORPUS   CHRISTL  237 

painting  his  Madonnas,  Zurbaran  reproducing  his  austere 
monks,  Ribera  representing  the  martyrdom  of  saints 
with  flashes  of  genius  that  resembled  rage,  and  Velas- 
quez, the  friend  of  the  King,  was  planning  the  downfall 
of  Olivarez,  Marquis  de  San  Lucar,  while  painting  his 
marvellous  portraits  and  scenes  of  common  life. 

The  "  Devotion  to  the  Cross"  was  performed  upon  a 
stage  erected  in  the  open  air.  There  was  no  hall  which 
could  have  contained  that  ardent,  enthusiastic,  eager 
multitude.  The  public  squares  scarcely  sufficed;  there 
was  a  dense,  suffocating  throng.  Sometimes  a  cry  arose 
from  the  crowd:  some  on.e  had  fainted,  and  there  was  no 
way  of  getting  him  or  her  out.  However  powerful  their 
lungs,  the  actors  certainly  could  not  hope  to  make  them- 
selves heard  by  that  immense  assemblage;  but  they  could 
see  the  gorgeous  scenery  and  behold  those  wonderful 
sword-thrusts  which  made  them  thrill  with  joy  or  terror. 
Their  sympathies  were  keenly  excited  by  the  heroes  of 
the  piece,  who  were,  perhaps,  neither  saints  nor  even 
just  men,  and  whose  final  conversion  exalted  the  power 
o(  the  crucifix  which  Calderon  desired  to  make  manifest. 

At  length  the  curtain  rolled  away,  the  people  gave 
a  cry  of  joy,  and  applauded  vociferously  !  They  thus 
showed  their  appreciation  in  advance,  with  perfect  con- 
fidence in  the  author's  powers.  They  were  sure  of  being 
at  once  entertained  and  edified. 

The  part  played  by  Eusebius  of  the  Cross,  the  hero  of 
the  drama,  is  far  from  being  exemplary;  but,  abandoned 
at  the  foot  of  Calvary,  he  makes  the  cross  his  exclusive 
devotion,  and  whenever  he  is  tempted  to  anger  or  any 
other  excess  the  temptation  thenceforth  disappears 
before  the  sign  of  the  cross.  It  is  through  this  devotion 
in  the  crucifix  that,  despite  his  faults  and  crimes,  Eusebius 
merits  the  grace  when  dying  of  receiving  absolution 


238  THE   MONK'S   PARDON. 

from  the  priest;  to  this  adorable  sign  of  our  redemp- 
tion Julia  owes  the  inspiration  which,  at  the  moment 
when  her  life  is  threatened,  makes  her  cry  out: 

"  Divine  Cross,  save  me  !  I  swear  to  live  and  die  in 
penance  !" 

Then  the  multitude  cry  out  with  one  voice: 

"  A  miracle  !     A  great  miracle  !" 

And,  according  to  custom,  the  principal  actor  in  the 
drama  appears,  and  bowing  to  the  audience,  says: 

"  So  ends  the  wonderful  comedy  of  Devotion  to  the 
Cross.  May  the  author  be  happy,  and  do  you  pardon 
him  his  faults." 

Then  there  was  an  indescribable  tumult  of  applause.  No 
other  auto  had  met  with  such  success.  It  was  not  alone 
admiration,  but  a  sort  of  frenzy,  that  seized  upon  the  mul- 
titude; the  spectators  felt  themselves  raised  to  the  same 
heights  as  the  dramatist.  If,  according  to  Raphael's 
beautiful  expression,  "  to  understand  is  to  equal,"  all 
that  pious  throng  assembled  to  applaud  this  auto  of  the 
priest  Calderon  were  elevated  by  the  power  of  his 
genius,  and  felt  its  influence  in  an  extraordinary  degree. 

Miguel  and  Alonso  Cano  were  both  deeply  touched  by 
this  magnificent  spectacle. 

The  last  bursts  of  applause  were  followed  by  the  first 
sound  of  the  hymns:  the  procession  was  coming  out  of 
the  cathedral.  The  tumult  was  all  of  a  sudden  hushed 
into  profound  recollection.  The  people  devoutly  fol- 
lowed the  cross,  towards  which  their  devotion  was 
stimulated  by  the  late  performance. 

The  procession  passed  slowly  and  majestically  along 
the  adjacent  streets  and  squares.  All  heads  were  bowed 
before  the  ostensorium,  and  all  knees  were  bent  upon  the 
pavement.  After  the  clergy  and  religious  came  the 
penitents  of  the  various  confraternities.  Then  the  multi- 


THE  FEAST  OF  CORPUS   CHRISTI.  239 

tude,  an  ever-increasing  multitude,  followed  the  Madon- 
nas, the  images  of  saints,  the  miraculous  crucifix,  and 
the  royally  decorated  reliquaries. 

None  but  the  Spaniards  or  Italians  understand  that 
holy  exaltation.  Where  they  put  faith  we  seek  to  put 
reason;  to  their  enthusiasm  we  offer  our  skepticism. 

The  Voltairean  spirit,  which  passed  over  France  like 
an  icy  wind,  and  the  rationalism  which  led  some  of  its 
finest  minds  astray,  has  found  an  echo  elsewhere.  But 
in  Spain  faith  has  undergone  no  transformation;  beyond 
the  Pyrenees  belief  is  still  as  fervent  as  ever. 

In  every  quarter  of  the  town  the  same  pomp  was  dis- 
played. It  was  only  when  the  procession  had  re-entered 
the  church,  that  the  crowd  gathering  about  the  cathe- 
dral ventured  to  give  its  opinion  upon  the  works  of  art 
exhibited  upon  the  steps  or  in  its  immediate  vicinity. 

All  the  great  artists  of  Madrid  were  represented  there. 
Many  of  them  had  sent  pictures,  with  their  names  at- 
tached; others  more  modest,  or  more  curious  to  know 
the  general  opinion,  uninfluenced  by  the  artist's  fame, 
omitted  sending  their  names  with  their  works,  prefer- 
ring to  hear  them  criticised  or  applauded  by  the  multi- 
tude. 

Lo  Spagnoletto  delighted  in  this  opportunity  of  com- 
paring the  progress  of  his  compatriots  and  of  discover- 
ing what  rank  was  assigned  him  among  contemporary 
artists.  Proud  of  his  success,  as  well  as  of  his  ap- 
pearance, he  passed  through  the  streets  of  Madrid,  fol- 
lowed by  a  crowd  of  curious  observers. 

Like  his  pupils  he  ostentatiously  wore  a  magnificent 
costume,  the  splendor  and  the  brilliant  tints  of  which 
contrasted  strongly  with  the  sombre  black  doublets  of 
the  Spaniards.  Occasionally  a  dark  cloud  overshadowed 
his  face;  whether  it  was  that  he  observed  a  canvas 


240  THE   MONK  S  PARDON. 

worthy  to  compete  with,  or  even  surpass  the  finest  of  his 
own,  or  that  the  remembrance  of  Don  John  crossed  his 
mind. 

Beside  him  was  Lello  Lelli  who,  with  his  hand  upon 
the  hilt  of  his  sword,  and  with  more  than  his  usual  bra- 
vado, seemed  less  like  a  person  who  kept  the  feast  relig- 
iously than  like  one  who  would  fain  have  disturbed  its 
solemnity  by  engaging  in  a  brawl. 

He  had  lost  none  of  that  vein  of  satire  which  we  re- 
member to  have  seen  him  display  in  the  studio  of  Alon- 
so  Cano;  but  this  satire  had  become  still  more  bitter. 
He  not  only  wounded  the  pride  of  those  with  whom  he 
spoke,  but  he  managed  to  reach  the  most  vulnerable 
point  in  every  heart.  His  only  pleasure  was  in  getting 
up  a  quarrel  or  pursuing  some  scheme  of  revenge.  A 
time  comes  in  some  lives  when  salvation  is  not  indeed 
impossible — for  salvation  can  never  be  impossible  as 
long  as  the  standard  of  the  cross  is  raised  over  the 
world,  and  the  Holy  Sacrifice  is  celebrated  upon  our  al- 
tars— but;  very  doubtful.  Evil  has  so  taken  possession 
of  these  natures  that  good  cannot  find  entrance  there. 
Thought  is  so  vitiated  in  its  source  that  the  conception 
of  a  noble  action  cannot  enter  their  mind.  Whosoever 
abandons  the  practice  of  virtue  forgets  at  length  that 
virtue  exists. 

After  his  return  to  Naples  Lelli  had  completely  given 
himself  up  to  evil  ways.  He  spent  his  nights  in  the  low- 
est taverns,  and,  unless  when  some  nocturnal  adventure 
required  that  his  head  should  be  cool  and  his  hand 
steady,  he  usually  drank  to  intoxication,  and  was  often 
carried  home  dead  drunk.  He  lowered  his  prices  for 
brawls  and  murders,  as  if  any  one  would  have  done  him 
a  favor  by  requiring  such  services  of  him.  His  expres- 
sion had  become  more  fierce  and  restless,  the  lines  around 


THE  FEAST  OF  CORPUS  CHRISTI.  241 

his  mouth  more  bitter.  And  when  in  his  fits  of  drun- 
kenness he  lost  control  of  himself,  strange  words  often 
escaped  his  lips.  But  he  spoke  before  men  whose  own 
heads  were  at  stake,  and  usually  when  Lelli  came  to 
himself  a  neighbor  merely  remarked  to  him  that  he  had 
better  take  care  to  drink  only  among  comrades.  Pushing 
and  jostling  Lelli  had  forced  his  way  into  the  front  row  of 
those  who  were  examining  the  works  of  art  upon  the  ca- 
thedral steps.  Stopping  before  a  medium-sized  picture 
representing  the  Virgin  and  Child  he  uttered  an  excla- 
mation of  surprise. 

"It  is  she!"  he  cried  in  a  troubled  voice,  "  it  is  she." 

He  fixed  his  haggard  gaze  full  of  a  sudden  terror  upon 
the  head  of  the  Madonna,  finding  only  in  the  features 
the  memory  of  a  woman  whom  he  had  seen  stretched 
upon  a  bed  covered  with  wounds. 

Near  the  picture  stood  a  man  wearing  the  gray  robe 
of  a  penitent.  His  gaze  never  wandered  from  Lelli,  his 
eyes  seemed  to  burn  through  the  holes  in  his  capuchin, 
and  he  trembled  with  some  deep  emotion. 

The  praises  of  this  picture  were  rung  on  all  sides; 
people  spoke  of  the  beauty  of  this  composition,  its  sim- 
plicity of  conception,  the  dignity  in  the  attitude  of  the 
Virgin,  and  the  divine  loveliness  of  the  Infant  Jesus. 

"  His  name!  His  name!"  cried  the  enthusiastic  spec- 
tators. 

Magnificent  offers  accompanied  the  applause.  They 
cried  out  that  Spain  possessed  another  master,  and  be- 
sought the  author  of  the  work  to  make  himself  known. 
A  monk,  offered  him  the  decoration  of  the  refectory  of 
his  convent;  a  great  lord  begged  him  to  adorn  his  gal- 
lery. It  was  a  fever,  a  frenzy,  of  enthusiasm. 

The  penitent  in  gray  was  silent,  but  at  each  cry  of 


242  THE   MONK  S   PARDON. 

admiration  a  thrill  passed  through  him  and  he  uncon- 
sciously drew  himself  up. 

Lello  had  remarked  the  demeanor  of  the  man.  Hatred, 
like  sympathy,  is  rarely  deceived  in  its  object.  Without 
knowing  why,  Lelli  felt  that  under  the  penitent's  hood 
and  robe  he  had  an  enemy.  Besides,  as  he  attentively 
examined  the  man  disguised  by  his  costume,  singular 
suspicions  darted  across  his  mind.  His  eyes  wandered 
back  and  forth  from  the  magnificent  painting  to  the 
mysterious  person  who  stood  beside  it.  What  had  struck 
him  at  first  and  elicited  his  cry  of  surprise  was  the 
strange  resemblance  between  the  dark  Madonna  of  the 
picture  and  the  face  of  a  woman  whom  he  had  good  rea- 
son to  remember. 

A  sudden  and  unexpected  test  might  put  the  life  and 
honor  of  a  man  in  his  power.  He  mounted  the  highest 
step  which  separated  him  from  the  picture,  and,  casting 
glances  of  rage  and  hatred  around  him,  said  to  the  crowd 
who  were  risking  the  danger  of  suffocation  to  behold  the 
work  which  had  been  the  great  success  of  the  day: 

"You  would  know  the  name  of  him  who  painted  this 
picture  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  cried  innumerable  voices. 

"You  shall  know  it  later,"  said  Lelli  with  a  disagreea- 
ble laugh.  "  Let  me  imitate  Calderon  and  Lope  de 
Vega  when  they  write  a  drama.  They  so  dispose  their 
effects  as  to  astound  by  an  unexpected  denouement,  and 
.that  is  wherefore  you  did  during  the  representation  of  the 
auto  of  our  inimitable  author  so  loudly  applaud  when 
Julia,  lost,  threatened  by  her  father's  dagger,  embraced 
the  saving  cross." 

"Most  certainly!" 

"Speak!  speak!" 

"  Tell  us  the  name  of  this  painter." 


THE   FEAST  OF  CORPUS  CHRISTI.  243 

Such  were  a  few  of  the  exclamations  that  arose  from 
the  crowd.  Whilst  Lelli  kept  them  thus  breathless  with 
curiosity  and  impatience  Miguel  seized  the  gray  peni- 
tent by  his  flowing  robe. 

"  Come,"  said  he,  "  come  !" 

"  No,"  said  Alonso,  "  I  will  remain." 

"  My  instinct  warns  me  that  thou  art  in  danger." 

"  I  have  braved  dangers  as  great,"  replied  Alonso. 

"  I  implore  thee!     Lelli  even  now  suspects." 

"  I  must  see  and  hear,"  said  Alonso. 

Lelli  went  on  addressing  the  crowd: 

"  You  find  this  Madonna  very  beautiful,  do  ye  not?  And 
in  truth  she  is  lovely  and  perfect.  The  expression  of  the 
face,  the  grace  of  the  contour,  are  painted  and  rendered 
most  wonderfully.  You  see  only  a  Virgin  worthy  of  your 
homage;  I  find  a  strange  and  fatal  resemblance.  Far 
from  inspiring  me  with  veneration  she  causes  me  a  secret 
horror.  Instead  of  reproducing  the  features  of  the 
Mother  of  God  they  remind  me  of  a  victim." 

"A  victim  ?"  repeated  a  score  of  voices. 

"Yes,  a  victim  whom  you  all  knew;  she  was  brutally 
murdered.  Her  features,  stamped  upon  this  canvas  by 
memory  and  remorse,  should  tell  you  the  name  of  her  as- 
sassin. The  woman  was  called  Mercedes,  and  the  painter 
Alonso  Cano." 

There  was  a  universal  cry  from  the  listeners.  At  the 
same  time  Lelli  let  his  hand  fall  heavily  upon  the  shoul- 
der of  the  penitent.  Alonso  felt  that  he  was  lost. 

"  Throw  back  that  cowl,"  said  Lelli,  making  a  move- 
ment as  if  to  snatch  it  off. 

But  Miguel,  dagger  in  hand,  leaped  forward. 

"Back,  sacrilegious  wretch!"  he  cried,  "this  man  is 
clad  in  the  livery  of  Christ,  which  is  sacred  to  all!  I 
appeal  to  the  Catholic  people  of  Spain." 


244  THE    MONK'S   PARDON. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  cried  the  crowd,  applauding. 

Miguel  seized  Alonso  by  the  arm. 

"Not  a  word  nor  a  sign,"  said  he;  "enough  imprudence 
for  one  day." 

He  dragged  him  forward  through  that  multitude, 
which  still  pressed  round  the  steps  of  the  cathedral. 

Then  Lelli  struck  his  forehead,  saying  in  a  low  voice: 

"  I  have  seen  enough;  but  we  shall  meet  again  Alonso 
Cano." 


THE   CHAMBER   OF  DEATH. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 
THE  CHAMBER  OF  DEATH. 

MIGUEL  dragged  his  companion  after  him  through  the 
crowd.  Whether  it  was  respect  for  the  habit  of  the  peni- 
tent which  he  wore,  or  pity  for  one  whose  crime  had 
never  been  proven,  the  people  seemed  to  lend  themselves 
as  much  as  possible  to  the  escape  of  the  two  friends. 
Pushed,  jostled,  forced  out  of  their  way  a  hundred  times 
and  regaining  it  with  the  greatest  difficulty,  obliged 
to  traverse  innumerable  lanes  and  by-ways,  they  believed 
that  Lello  Lelli  must  have  lost  all  trace  of  them. 

But  the  Italian  was  not  a  man  to  lose  sight  of  his  prey. 
He  had  followed  their  flight  at  a  convenient  distance. 
Alonso's  costume  enabled  him  to  keep  his  eye  upon  them, 
while  remaining  himself  a  few  paces  behind,  till  a  crowd 
of  gray,  black,  and  white  penitents  pouring  out  upon  a 
square  confused  him,  and  when  the  long  train  had  dis- 
appeared Miguel  and  his  friend  were  no  more  to  be  seen. 
Lello  was  then  about  a  hundred  paces  from  the  regidor's 
house.  His  rage  was  almost  uncontrollable.  A  moment 
before  he  had  believed  his  vengeance  certain,  now  it  had 
escaped  him. 

He  thought  of  going  into  Sanguineto's  house  and  ap- 
prising him  of  Alonso  Cano's  presence  in  Madrid.  Bu* 
in  sober  reality  what  could  he  affirm? 

Positively  nothing. 

One  of  the  pictures  upon  the  steps  of  the  cathedral  ha<» 
reminded  him  of  Mercedes,  but  that  might  be  merely  a 
chance  resemblance.  A  man  concealed  by  a  penitent's 


246  THE   MONK'S   PARDON. 

dress  had  seemed  to  take  an  extraordinary  interest  in  the 
judgment  of  the  people  upon  a  work;  and  in  this  work 
Lello  Lelli  believed  he  could  trace  the  touch,  the  drawing, 
the  execution  of  Alonso  Cano.  Such  suppositions  would 
weigh  but  little  in  the  balance  of  justice,  or  at  least  the 
justice  exercised  by  the  regidor.  The  latter  could  not  act 
without  an  order,  and  Gaspardo  del  Roca  would  not  give 
it  on  mere  chance.  Besides,  where  to  find  this  mysteri- 
ous penitent? 

"The  first  thing  is  to  find  Miguel,"  thought  Lello; 
"  after  that  we  shall  see  what  is  to  be  done.  Miguel 
probably  frequents  the  artists'  quarter;  I  will  go  thither 
in  the  evenings,  and  by  keeping  eyes  and  ears  open  I  shall 
be  sure  to  discover  him." 

While  pursuing  this  train  of  thought  Lelli's  eyes  strayed 
mechanically  around  him;  they  fixed  themselves  uncon- 
sciously upon  the  regidor 's  house:  he  uttered  an  exclama- 
tion: 

"It  is  he!"  he  said;  "I  am  sure  it  is  he." 

Then,  drawing  his  sombrero  over  his  eyes,  he  quitted 
the  spot,  even  more  hastily  than  he  had  approached  it. 
Instead  of  going  to  Gaspardo  del  Roca  he  went  to 
Resale's. 

Meanwhile  the  regidor  was  deeply  distressed. 

"  I  told  thee,"  said  he  in  a  voice  of  extreme  agitation, 
J<it  was  an  imprudence,  a  terrible  imprudence.  Thou 
shouldst  not  have  gone  out  on  any  pretence  whatsoever. 
Miguel  alone  should  have  been  left  to  act.  He  is  clever, 
intelligent,  and  devoted;  he  would  probably  have  found 
some  means  of  ensnaring  this  Lelli  and  making  him  con- 
fess his  crime.  Thou  seest  now  how  the  situation  has 
changed.  Thy  deadly  enemy  suspects  thy  presence.  He 
will  make  it  known  and  bring  about  thy  ruin,  which  is 
more  certain  this  time  because  the  law  has  a  double  ac- 


THE   CHAMBER   OF   DEATH.  247 

count  to  settle  with  thee,  that  of  thy  imputed  crime  in 
the  first  place,  that  of  thy  escape  in  the  second." 

"  Oh,  I  confess  I  was  wrong,"  said  Alonso  Cano;  "  I  ask 
thy  pardon,  Rafael,  for  having  exposed  thee  through  my 
fault  to  anxieties  which  I  might  well  have  spared  thee. 
But  if  thou  couldst  know  what  it  was  for  a  miserable  out- 
law like  me  to  feel  that  he  still  lived  amongst  men,  to  be- 
hold that  enthusiastic  multitude  whose  outbursts  of  admi- 
ration for  art  followed  upon  their  manifestations  of  faith. 
Whilst  I  heard  them  applaud  my  work  I  forgot  that  I 
was  exiled,  outlawed,  that  the  swore-  of  justice  was  hang- 
ing over  me,  and  that  if  I  did  not  succeed  in  making 
known  the  real  criminal  it  must  inevitably  fall  upon  me. 
I  forgot  everything  but  that  I  had  once  lived  proud  and 
happy  amongst  the  privileged  of  fate;  an  echo  from  the 
past  came  to  me  across  the  bygone  years  and  the  cruel 
sufferings  endured." 

"  I  understand  all  that,"  said  the  regidor,  pressing  his 
friend's  hand  affectionately,  "  I  do  not  blame  thee,  but 
hatred  is  ingenious  and  persevering.  Lelli  will  not  fail 
to  discover  thy'hiding-place." 

"Thou  wilt  be  compromised,"  cried  Cano. 

"  Oh,  think  not  of  that,"  said  the  regidor.  "  I  have  a 
right  to  be  less  suspicious  than  Resales,  and  I  am  merely 
exercising  this  right." 

"  As  a  man  thou  art  free  to  exercise  it,"  said  Alonso; 
but  as  a  magistrate — " 

"  Well,"  said  Sanguineto  quietly,  "  I  shall  lose  my 
place,  that  is  all." 

"  I  shall  not  expose  thee  to  that,"  replied  Alonso. 

"  I  always  accept  the  responsibility  of  my  acts,  and  the 
obligations  of  friendship,"  said  Sanguineto. 

"I  know,"  said  Alonso.  "  thou  art  most  generous." 

Turning  to  Miguel  he  added: 


248  THE   MONK'S   PARDON. 

"  I  Will  go." 

The  young  man  sadly  averted  his  head. 

"  I  deem  it  indispensable  for  thy  safety,"  he  went  on. 

"  Whither  wilt  thou  go  ?"  said  Sanguinto. 

"I  shall  return  to  the  asylum  which  I  should  never 
have  quitted." 

"ToPorta  CoeliT 

"  Yes,  and  this  time  I  will  pronounce  my  vows." 

"And  I,"  cried  Miguel,  "will  remain  in  Madrid  to 
carry  on  thy  work,  master." 

"  My  boy,"  said  Alonso,  "  once  I  have  taken  the  vow 
of  humility  believe  that  I  shall  not  disturb  myself  farther 
about  the  opinions  of  men." 

Sanguineto  made  a  violent  effort  to  control  his  emo- 
tion but  without  success.  He  threw  himself  into  Alon- 
so's  arms  and  wept. 

"  Sefior  Rafael,"  said  Miguel,  "  I  shall  begin  the  prep- 
arations for  departure  at  once.  A  carriage  will  be  here 
at  nightfall.  I  myself  shall  accompany  and  protect  my 
master." 

Alonso,  paler  than  ever,  turned  towards  the  young 
man.  He  took  one  of  Miguel's  hands  and  one  of  San- 
guineto's;  his  troubled  look  passed  from  one  to  the 
other;  some  struggle  was  going  on  within  him.  He 
seemed  afraid  to  speak,  and  yet  some  secret  emotion  was 
burdening  his  heart.  At  length  he  said,  addressing  these 
two  friends,  upon  whom  he  knew  he  could  depend  to  the 
last  hour  of  his  life: 

"  I  said  that  I  would  go,  and  I  will!" 

"  When  ?"  asked  Miguel. 

"  This  very  night,"  said  Alonso. 

"  Thou  art  more  courageous  than  I  bad  dared  to. 
hope,"  said  Sanguineto. 

"  I  go,  but  on  one  condition." 


THE   CHAMBER   OF  DEATH.  249 

"  What  is  that  ?"  asked  Miguel. 

"Condition  is  not  the  proper  word,  dear  boy,"  said 
Alonso, "  for  what  condition  could  I  put  to  thy  devotion  ? 
I  should  have  said  that  I  have  but  one  wish  remaining, 
a  wish  that  is  so  ardent  and  intense  that  it  consumes  my 
very  heart,  and  the  accomplishment  of  which,  far  from 
increasing  my  sorrow,  would,  I  am  sure,  mitigate  it." 

"Speak!  speak!"  cried  the  regidor. 

"  Well!"  said  Alonso,  in  a  voice  broken  by  emotion,  "  I 
would  see  once  more  the  house  wherein  I  dwelt  in 
Madrid." 

"That  fatal  house!"  cried  Miguel,  with  horror. 

"Yes!"  replied  Alonso,  "I  want  to  return  thither,  if  it 
be  but  for  an  hour,  hoping,  perchance,  to  seize  the  shadow 
of  happiness  forever  lost.  Ye  cannot  comprehend  this 
unconquerable  attraction  towards  a  place  where  at  first 
all  seemed  to  smile  upon  me,  and  where  I  afterwards  en- 
dured the  most  terrible  suffering  that  the  heart  of  man 
can  conceive.  Since  I  left  that  truly  fatal  house  the 
longing  has  never  left  me  to  revisit  it.  I  want  to  see  the 
studio,  peopled  with  my  works;  the  living  tokens  of  a 
fame,  stained  with  dishonor;  the  salons,  the  patio,  where 
my  private  life  was  spent;  the  room  wherein  I  saw  Mer- 
cedes wounded,  dead." 

"  Master,  I  implore  thee,"  said  Miguel,  "  renounce  this 
desire,  the  gratification  of  which  may  have  terrible  con- 
sequences; let  us  depart  at  once,  without  hesitation, 
without  even  pausing  to  look  backwards." 

"  No,"  said  Alonso,  "  I  have  not  the  courage.  Even  if 
Lelli  suspects  my  presence  in  Madrid,  he  has  doubts  of 
which  I  must  reap  the  benefit.  He  will  use  every  en- 
deavor, I  admit,  but  before  he  has  arrived  at  any  result 
I  shall  have  fled  forever.  Admitting  even  that  they  sus- 
pected Sanguineto  of  remaining  my  friend,  who  would 


250  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

dare  to  search  fo,  Alonso  Cano  in  the  house  of  the  rcg;\;<  r  ? 
It  would  be  the  last  in  Madrid  that  they  would  enter. 
Lelli  did  not  recognize  me  in  my  penitent's  dress;  we 
have  escaped  most  happily;  as  far  as  he  is  concerned  we 
have  nothing  to  fear  for  the  present." 

"  Yet  I  do  fear!"  said  Miguel. 

"I  still  have  the  key  of  the  house,"  Alonso  replied, 
"  and  will  steal  in  there  to-night  like  a  thief,  seek  the 
cherished  memories  of  other  times,  and  when  I  have  wept 
over  the  ruins  of  my  happiness,  I  will  return  to  the  path 
of  exile." 

"  I  will  not  permit  such  imprudence,"  said  Sanguineto. 

"If  thou  dost  refuse  me  this,"  said  Alonso,  "I  will 
abandon  all  idea  of  flight,  quit  thy  house  so  as  not  to 
compromise  thee,  conceal  myself  in  the  most  wretched 
posada  of  Madrid,  and  remain  there  till  I  am  dragged 
ihence  by  the  law.  But  whilst  I  retain  my  liberty  I  will 
go  each  night  to  that  fatal  house,  that  it  may  be  the 
witness  of  my  last  hours." 

Sanguineto  and  Miguel  looked  at  each  other,  and  the 
regidor  asked  in  a  trembling  voice: 

"  Thou  wilt  do  what  thou  hast  just  said  ?" 

"  Yes!"  answered  Alonso. 

"May  Heaven  forbid!"  added  Sanguineto. 

"  Ay,  and  help  me,  despite  what  thou  callest  my 
folly." 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  regidor. 

"  Miguel,"  said  Alonso,  "  procure  me  a  carriage;  when 
all  is  ready  wait  for  me  in  it,  within  ten  paces  of  my 
house." 

"  I  promise!"  said  the  young  man. 

"  Thou  wilt  find  gold  and  weapons  of  defence  in  tho 
carriage,"  said  the  regidor. 

"  To  thank   thee  would  be  but  to  humiliate  thee,  Ra- 


THE   CHAMBER   OF  DEATH.  251 

fael/'said  Alonso;  "what  thou  dost  for  me  I  would  have 
done  for  thee." 

Miguel  took  his  cloak. 

"  I  will  go  to  secure  a  post-chaise,"  said  he, "  ten  paces 
from  thy  house,  at  ten  o'clock!" 

"  It  will  be  needless  to  apprise  me,"  said  Alonso.  "  I 
will  keep  watch!" 

Miguel  then  went  out.  He  did  not  perceive  that  a  man 
was  shadowing  him,  and  following  his  every  movement 
with  the  greatest  persistency.  When  he  reached  the 
inn-court,  where  he  was  to  procure  horses,  the  spy  con- 
cealed himself  against  the  wall,  while  Miguel  entering 
made  his  arrangements,  paying  generously  withovt  bar- 
gaining. 

"  Be  tranquil,  Sefior,"  said  the  master  of  the  posada, 
"  punctuality  is  but  the  least  of  my  virtues.  At  a  quarter 
to  ten  the  carriage  will  be  ready  for  thee;  it  is  thine  as 
well  as  the  horses,  since  thou  hast  so  liberally  paid  for 
them  like  a  noble  caballero." 

Miguel  departed  much  relieved  in  mind 

Scarcely  was  he  gone  when  the  spy  came  out  from  his 
hiding-place. 

"  Torre,"  said  he  to  the  innkeeper, "  knowest  thou  this 
sign  ?" 

"Too  well!"  said  Torre,  with  signs  of  evident  pertur- 
bation. 

"Thou^wilt  obey  without  reserve?" 

"Without  any  reserve,  Sancta  Virgen." 

"  Another  carriage  at  the  hour  agreed  upon,  only  five 
minutes  in  advance." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Torre,  trembling  more  and  more.  "  But 
my  conscience  may  be  easy  as  to  the  price  received  fof 
this  carriage  ?" 


2$2  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

"  Thou  mayest  keep  it  as  payment  for  the  service  tho* 
wilt  render  to  a  good  cause." 

"  I  will  keep  it!"  said  Torre  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

Miguel,  somewhat  reassured  by  the  success  with  which 
he  had  met,  returned  to  Sanguineto's  house.  The  regidor 
and  his  friend  were  having  a  last  interview,  in  which  the 
latter  made  a  sort  of  moral  testament,  bequeathing  to 
him  the  better  part  of  his  soul. 

"  I  have  undergone  my  last  trial,"  said  he.  "  I  made  an 
effort  to  resume  my  place  in  the  world,  and  the  first  man 
who  arose  before  me  was  an  enemy.  Yonder,  in  the 
quiet  of  the  Carthusian  monastery,  I  sometimes  felt  a 
lurking  regret  for  lost  joys.  When  I  saw  Miguel  my 
whole  heart  went  out  to  him;  Miguel  was  just  then  the 
embodiment  of  a  glorious  past,  art,  the  adulation  of  my 
kind,  the  friendship  of  the  King.  That  noble  youth,  who 
has  pledged  his  life  to  clear  his  master  from  suspicion, 
personified  both  past  and  future.  Heaven,  no  doubt, 
willed  that  I  should  try  my  vocation  in  a  more  certain 
manner,  before  permitting  me  to  make  my  vows.  I 
yielded  to  the  temptation  of  winning  back  a  portion  of 
what  I  had  lost,  and  I  came.  I  return  to  the  monastery 
voluntarily,  Sanguineto,  to  leave  it  no  more.  Thou  shall 
keep,  in  memory  of  me,  the  picture  exposed  upon  th<% 
cathedral  steps  to-day,  and  which  I  believe  to  be  not  un- 
worthy of  what  was  called  my  genius." 

Alonso  ceased  speaking;  the  regidor,  overcome  by 
emotion,  could  only  press  the  hand  of  his  friend. 

Night  came  on  rapidly.  The  artist  folded  Sanguinete 
in  a  close  embrace. 

"I  shall  never  see  thee  again,"  said  he;  "but  my  most 
fervent  and  heartfelt  blessings  be  upon  thee!"  With  that 
thfy  separated.  Alonso  soon  found  himself  alone  in  thff 
•treets  of  Madrid- 


THE   CHAMBER   OF  DEATH.  253 

All  day  long  they  had  presented  a  scene  of  tumult  and 
animation;  now  they  seemed  unnaturally  still.  The 
dwellings  and  hostelries  were  filled  to  overflowing.  The 
evening  meal  was  unusually  prolonged.  The  fatigue  of 
the  day  seemed  to  increase  the  appetite.  There  was  a 
careless  and  unrestrained  gayety,  an  expansiveness  and 
general  atmosphere  of  good  cheer,  which  are  almost  un- 
known elsewhere. 

Absorbed  in  his  thoughts  Alonso  proceeded  towards 
his  former  dwelling.  No  one  had  crossed  its  threshold 
since  the  day  when  Mercedes  had  been  borne  thence 
upon  her  bier  to  her  grave  in  the  cemetery,  and  the 
artist  had  been  taken  to  prison,  under  Rosal6s'  guard- 
ianship. 

Alonso's  key  turned  readily  in  the  lock.  He  entered, 
closed  the  door  softly,  as  if  he  feared  to  break  in  upon 
the  stillness,  and  hastily  lighting  one  of  the  waxen  ta- 
pers which  remained  in  the  bronze  candelabra  of  the 
vestibule,  looked  by  its  flickering  light  at  the  objects 
which  surrounded  him. 

The  statues  in  the  studio  seemed  like  so  many  ghosts; 
the  grand  retablo  still  resembled  a  chapel  peopled  with 
angels  and  saints.  The  great  gilt  frames,  tarnished  and 
obscured  by  dust,  made  dimly  luminous  spots  amongst 
the  shadows  falling  from  above.  This  apartment,  which 
had  been  as  brilliant  as  the  hall  of  a  palace,  was  now  as 
mournful  as  a  grave.  Upon  the  easel  stood  the  unfin- 
ished portrait  of  Philip  IV.  In  a  single  day  the  artist 
had  fallen  from  the  summit  of  his  grandeur  to  an  abyss 
of  misery.  Alonso  turned  away  his  eyes  from  this  can- 
vas with  its  so  real  sketch,  and  remained  long  absorbed 
in  a  painful  reverie. 

"  Ah,  nothingness  of  human  glory,"  he  cried  out 
u  must  we  spend  our  lives  in  striving  to  realize  thf 


254  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

promises  with  which  thou  dost  lure  us  on,  and  which 
thou  leavest  ever  unfulfilled  ?" 

He  left  the  studio  and  slowly  went  up  the  stairs.  As 
he  ascended  his  step  grew  heavier  and  his  head  bent 
lower  and  lower. 

The  first  apartment  through  which  he  passed  was  a 
dining-room,  decorated  with  superb  carvings  in  wood 
and  panels  of  those  marvellous  faiences  with  which  the 
Moors  decorated  Spain,  without,  however,  revealing  the 
secret  of  their  brilliant  colors  and  the  formation  of  their 
enamels. 

How  often  had  friends  met  around  that  hospitable 
table !  How  many  times  they  had  drunk  Cano's  health 
and  happiness,  or  greeted  his  latest  artistic  triumph ! 
Mercedes'  place  was  still  indicated  by  her  high  chair 
covered  with  Cordova  leather.  Seated  at  that  table 
Alonso  was  wont,  when  the  fatigues  of  his  long,  laborious 
day  were  over,  to  tell  his  wife  of  visits  received  and  of 
new  commissions  for  pictures,  to  impart  to  her  some 
fresh  success,  and  to  place  at  her  disposal  sums  of  money 
which,  though  perhaps  extravagant  for  his  means,  proved 
his  indulgence  towards  his  young  and  childish  wife. 
Upon  the  side-table,  laden  with  massive  silverware,  was 
a  special  cup  which  Mercedes  always  used,  and  a  costly 
flagon  which  she  herself  had  filled  with  rose-water.  He 
quickly  averted  his  head  and  passed  into  the  next  room. 

It  was  that  in  which  he  had  sat  with  Mercedes  for  the 
last  time.  The  guitar  she  had  then  used  still  lay  upon  a 
little  ebony  table,  inlaid  with  ivory.  Its  ribbon  trailed 
upon  the  carpet.  A  little  bouquet  of  flowers  Mercedes 
had  worn  lay  in  dust  upon  the  table. 

Mercedes"  sleeping-room  was  still  farther  on.  •  Alonso 
paused  upon  the  threshold.  He  drew  aside  the  draper- 
ies, and  before  going  in  placed  the  wax-light  which  he 


THE   CHAMBER   OF  DEATH.  255 

held  in  a  candlestick.  Owing  to  the  confusion  which 
had  accompanied  the  tragic  events  there  were  still  traces 
of  disorder  in  the  room.  The  empty  jewel-cases  were 
still  open  upon  the  dressing-table.  The  ivory  crucifix 
placed  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  remained  to  remind  him  of 
the  last  prayers  which  had  been  said  there.  A  robe  of 
lampas*  thrown  upon  a  chair,  touched  the  ground  and, 
falling  in  heavy  folds,  had  something  the  effect  of  a 
kneeling  figure.  The  bed,  covered  with  its  counterpane 
of  silk,  was  as  mournful  as  a  catafalque.  Alonso  threw 
himself  into  an  arm-chair  facing  it,  and  abandoned  him- 
self to  all  the  bitterness  of  retrospection.  He  brought 
vividly  before  his  mind  Mercedes,  as  he  had  seen  her  for 
the  last  time,  pale  with  the  awful  pallor  of  death,  and 
covered  with  wounds.  He  closed  his  eyes  and,  lost  in  sor- 
rowful meditation,  reflected  upon  the  transitoriness  of 
human  love,  as  he  had  before  pondered  upon  the  bitter- 
ness of  human  friendship  and  fortune. 

He  was  right  when  he  told  Rafael  Sanguineto  that  in 
that  deserted  house,  where  he  had  known  so  many  joys, 
he  would  bid  a  final  adieu  to  the  world  which  had  de- 
ceived, wounded,  and  crushed  him.  He  experienced  the 
terrible  sensation  of  a  man  who,  going  down  aHve  into 
a  tomb,  undergoes  all  the  various  transformations  of 
death.  As  a  man,  he  was  to  leave  there  the  last  rem- 
nants of  earthly  passion;  as  a  Christian,  he  was  to  go 
thence  with  a  soul  completely  regenerated.  The  hours 
and  moments  flew  by;  the  hapless  artist,  absorbed  in  his 
dreams,  his  prayer,  and  his  sorrow,  scarcely  perceived 
their  rapid  flight.  The  bell  of  the  neighboring  convent, 
which  was  wont  to  regulate  the  hours  of  labor  for  the 
pupils  of  the  studio,  rang  out  upon  the  night  with  a  dis- 

*  A  heavy  stuff. 


256  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

tinctness  which  seemed  ominous  to  Alonso.  Having 
counted  its  strokes,  he  rose. 

"  Farewell  to  life,"  he  said.  "  Farewell  to  the  world.  I 
now  return  to  Porta  Cali." 

He  pressed  his  pale  lips  to  the  crucifix  and  took  the 
candle,  in  order  to  make  his  way  from  the  room  and 
downstairs.  But  the  candle,  which  was  almost  entirely 
consumed,  gave  forth  a  wavering,  uncertain  light,  flick- 
ered, leaped  up,  and  suddenly  went  out. 

The  artist  groped  his  way  to  the  stairs,  went  slowly 
down,  opened  the  door,  and  looked  out  into  the  street. 
It  was  almost  completely  deserted.  At  a  few  paces  from 
the  house  stood  a  carriage. 

"  Miguel  is  punctual,"  thought  the  painter. 

He  approached  it,  opened  the  door,  and  entered.  Scarce- 
ly was  he  seated  when  he  felt  his  hand  pressed  with  ex- 
traordinary fervor,  a  whistle  was  given  as  a  signal  to  the 
driver,  and  the  carriage  set  off  at  full  gallop.  Almost  at 
the  same  moment  a  second  carriage  took  the  place  of 
the  first,  within  a  few  paces  of  the  artist's  house,  and  a 
man  who  seemed  young  walked  up  and  down,  keeping 
watch,  and  giving  frequent  signs  of  impatience,  in  front 
of  the  dwelling  which  had  returned  to  its  former  darkness 
and  silence.  The  carriage  in  which  Alonso  sat  drove 
through  the  streets  with  reckless  haste.  Streets  and 
squares  succeeded  each  other;  but  the  artist  could  not 
obtain  a  single  word  from  his  companion,  who  sat  mute 
and  motionless  in  the  corner  of  the  carriage. 

A  vague  mistrust  crossed  the  painter's  mind. 

"  A  word,"  said  he,  "  a  word  for  pity's  sake,  Miguel." 

There  was  no  answer. 

The  artist  leaned  out  of  the  window,  and  by  the  light 
of  a  lamp  burning  before  an  image  of  Mary  he  fancied 


THE   CHAMBER   OF   DEATH.  257 

he  saw  a  huge,  dark  building  arise  before  him  like  a  ter- 
rible phantom. 

His  fears  had  not  time  to  shape  themselves.  The 
carriage  stopped,  but  no  one  came  to  open  the  door 
when  the  artist  would  have  alighted.  The  great  gate 
leading  to  the  edifice  rolled  upon  its  hinges,  and  the  car- 
riage passed  on  to  the  inner  court. 

"Betrayed!"  cried  Alonso,  in  a  voice  of  utter  desola 
tion,  "betrayed!" 

Both  doors  of  the  carriage  were  now  flung  open,  the 
courtyard  was  suddenly  lit  up,  and  a  rough  voice  cried 
out: 

"  Alight!" 

Alonso  leaped  to  the  ground.  Then,  looking  round 
him  with  mingled  fear  and  horror,  he  exclaimed: 

"  The  prison!     The  prison!" 

Resales  had  taken  his  revenge. 


358  THE   MONK'S    PARDON. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

TORTURE. 

THE  cell  was  one  of  the  darkest  in  the  prison  of  Ma- 
drid; neither  light  nor  air  could  penetrate  it;  it  was  not 
only  a  dungeon,  but  a  black  hole,  a  foul  pit.  A  full- 
grown  man  could  neither  stand  nor  lie  down  in  it.  Its 
unfortunate  inmate  was  obliged  to  remain  crouched  to- 
gether, deprived  at  once  of  all  movement,  and  of  even  a 
breath  of  air.  No  sound  could  reach  this  den.  Hollowed 
out  at  the  extremity  of  a  species  of  funnel,  it  was  isolated 
from  all  the  other  cells.  It  was,  as  it  were,  the  lowest  pit 
of  a  human  hell.  When  the  jailer  opened  the  door,  once 
a  day,  he  could  at  first  distinguish  nothing  in  the  pro- 
found darkness.  The  reflection  of  his  lantern  at  length 
penetrated  the  corner  of  the  cell,  where  he  could  vaguely 
discern  a  human  form  chained  motionless  to  the  damp 
floor. 

The  prisoner,  who  in  the  first  days  of  his  arrest  had 
begged  permission  to  hold  some  communication  with  his 
judges,  understanding  at  length  the  uselessness  of  his 
entreaties,  had  ceased  speaking  entirely;  he  never  by  a 
word  broke  the  silence  enjoined  by  the  rule,  and  might 
have  feared  himself  that  he  had  lost  the  power  of  speech, 
were  it  not  that,  whenever  he  found  himself  alone,  he 
broke  forth  into  lamentations,  or  recited  fervent  prayers. 

God  alone  knew  the  full  extent  of  his  trial,  and  the 
depth  of  his  despair.  God  surely  used  this  sorrow  as  a 
means  of  sanctifying  his  soul.  The  jailer,  at  first  sur- 
prised at  the  captive's  docility,  began  to  wonder  whether 


TORTURE.  259 

this  apparent  resignation  did  not  conceal  some  deadly 
resolve. 

Lest  he  might  put  an  end  to  his  misfortunes  by  suicide, 
they  had  fettered  his  hands  and  feet.  A  ring  encircling 
both  his  hands  was  affixed  to  an  iron  belt.-  His  ankles, 
encircled  after  the  same  fashion,  supported  heavy  chains, 
fastened  to  a  hook  in  the  belt. 

When  the  feeble  glimmer  of  light  from  Piquillo  the 
jailer's  lantern  fell  upon  the  face  of  the  prisoner,  the 
beholder  was  filled  with  a  painful  emotion  at  sight  of 
that  grand  and  noble  forehead,  the  seat  of  a  lofty  in- 
tellect, lined  by  suffering,  and  prematurely  furrowed  by 
deep  wrinkles.  In  every  line  of  that  countenance  was 
suffering  tempered  by  resignation. 

He  had  prayed  and  suffered  in  this  cell  for  four  months, 
when  one  day  he  heard  an  unusual  noise,  as  of  foot- 
steps descending  the  stairs  to  his  cell.  He  knew  it  was 
some  one  for  him,  as  those  stairs  led  nowhere  else. 
Then,  full  of  lofty  courage,  he  summoned  to  his  aid  that 
dignity  which  had  been  saved  by  faith  from  the  uni- 
versal shipwreck;  he  raised  himself  upon  the  handful  oi 
straw  which  served'him  at  once  for  a  seat  and  a  bed,  and 
waited. 

It  was  not  one  person  but  several  persons  who  had 
come  to  visit  him  in  the  cell.  The  clanking  of  swords 
and  the  subdued  murmur  of  voices  resounded  through 
the  vaulted  arches.  The  captive  had  to  collect  all  the 
energy  of  his  soul  to  sustain  a  combat  which  became 
every  day  more  difficult  and  desperate. 

The  grated  door  opened.  The  light  of  three  lanterns 
cast  their  red  glare  into  the  cell;  half  a  score  of  soldiers 
ranged  themselves  without,  facing  the  prisoner,  and  two 
men  in  black  entered.  One  was  Rosal6s,  the  other  an 
assessor  to  take  down  the  prisoner's  deposition. 


260  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

When  he  beheld  the  judge,  whom  he  had  too  much  cause 
to  regard  as  his  persecutor,  Alonso's  eyes  flashed  fire; 
he  made  an  effort,  as  if  to  release  his  hands  from  the 
fetters,  but,  feeling  the  uselessness  of  all  demonstration, 
waited  in  silence  the  communication  which  the  magis- 
trate might  have  to  make. 

"  Alonso  Cano,"  said  Resales,  "  hast  thou  yet  resolved 
to  make  the  confession  which  justice  has  vainly  de- 
manded of  thee  for  four  months  past?" 

"  I  can  only  renew  my  protestations  of  innocence,"  re- 
plied the  artist,  with  an  energy  which  could  scarcely 
have  been  expected  from  his  wasted  frame. 

"What  will  this  criminal  stubbornness  avail  thee?" 
demanded  Resales.  "  Everything  condemns  thee,  from 
the  circumstances  preceding  the  murder  of  thy  wife 
Mercedes,  to  thy  fligfit." 

"  I  did  not  flee  from  justice,  but  sought  to  escape  fron; 
those  who  would  have  been  my  murderers,"  said  Alonso. 

Rosal6s  resumed,  without  appearing  to  notice  this  re- 
mark: 

"  By  a  fatal  law,  the  source  of  which  must  be  sought 
no  doubt  in  remorse,  every  criminal  comes  back  to  the 
scene  of  his  crime.  A  strange  but  inevitable  attraction 
draws  him  there  where  he  shed  blood.  It  would  seem 
that  avenging  angels  force  him  thus  to  the  theatre  of  the 
murder,  that  the  Lord  may  avenge  the  victim.  The 
history  of  almost  all  murderers  proves  the  truth  of  this 
theory.  The  workings  of  remorse  are  not  only  within 
the  criminal's  soul,  but  show  themselves  besides  in  ex- 
terior actions.  He  is  compelled  to  take  nature  as  a  wit- 
ness of  his  crime,  or  he  avows  it  to  irrational  beings,  or, 
as  in  thy  case,  he  seeks  to  retrace  the  bloody  footsteps 
of  the  tragedy  whereof  he  was  the  hero." 

"  I  am  innocent !"  repeated  Cano,  mildly. 


TORTURE.  26l 

"  If  thou  wert  innocent,  wouldst  thou  have  fled  from 
the  tribunal  of  justice  ?" 

"  I  left  it  to  Providence  to  unmask  the  real  criminal." 

"  Such  was  the  agitation  occasioned  by  remorse  that, 

lest  thou  mightest  have  to  blush  before  a  worthy  friend 

and  confidant,  thou  didst  choose  at  Valencia  Milagro, 

who   was   likewise   accused    of    having    murdered    his 

wife." 

« 

"  Ft  was  chance  alone  which  made  me  an  inmate  of 
his  house,"  said  Alonso.  "  When,  in  a  moment  of  painfu; 
excitement,  he  told  me  of  the  terrible  suspicion  which 
had  blighted  his  life,  I  felt  that  I  had  no  right  to  cast 
him  off  since  I  too  had  sustained  a  similar  misfortune. 
I  knew  not  but  that  Milagro  might  have  been  falsely 
accused,  as  I  was  myself." 

"  Wherefore  didst  thou  leave  Valencia  ?"  pursued 
Rosal6s;  "  hitherto  thou  hast  assigned  no  reason." 

"  I  could  at  need  part  with  my  liberty,  but  not  with 
the  pursuit  of  my  art.  Besides,  I  had  to  live,  and  my 
brush  and  chisel  enabled  me  to  obtain  a  livelihood. 
My  name  was  discovered  by  what  they  call  my  genius; 
a  too  zealous  judge,  eager  for  his  own  advancement,  at 
once  ambitious  and  hypocritical,  would  have  preyed  upon 
me  with  the  fury  of  a  wild  beast,  and  I  fled." 

"  Whither  didst  thou  then  retire  ?" 

"To  the  Carthusian  monastery  of  Porta  Calif" 

"  Thou  wert  in  safety  there,"  said  Rosal6s,  "  thy  talent 
no  doubt  endeared  thee  to  the  monks.  What  motive 
led  thee  to  return  to  Madrid  ?" 

"  The  urgent  one  of  seeking  to  trace — " 

"  Who  ?" 

"  The  murderer  of  Mercedes." 

"  Thou  dost  then  persist  in  accusing  Lello  Lelli  ?" 

"  I  do." 


262  THE   MONK'S   PARDON. 

"  What  interest  could  he  have  in  committing  such  a 
crime  ?" 

"A  double  interest:  he  wanted  to  obtain  possession  of 
my  wife's  diamonds,  which  were  renowned,  and  to  re- 
venge himself  upon  me." 

"  So  much  blood  for  so  trifling  a  cause  ?" 

"  Lelli  is  an  Italian." 

"  If  anything  could  aggravate  the  gravity  of  thy  situa- 
tion," said  Rosales,  "  it  is  the  animosity  with  which  thou 
dost  accuse  a  young  man  whose  only  offence  was  that  of 
drawing  a  sword  in  thy  studio.  We  must  in  truth  add, 
of  course,  that  it  touched  thee  deeply,  recalling  the  death 
of  the  hapless  Sebastian  Llano  y  Valdez." 

At  this  recollection  Cano  trembled  in  every  limb. 

"That  was  indeed  murder,"  said  he. 

"  Thou  saidst  thou  wert  seeking  to  prove  Lelli's  guilt," 
said  Resales.  "How  could  that  be  when  thou  didst 
never  leave  Sanguineto's  house  ?" 

"  Miguel  was  seeking  for  me." 

"  Miguel  has  been  arrested  !"  said  Rosales. 

"  Arrested  ?"  cried  Alonso,  "  he,  the  noblest  and  most 
generous  of  men  !" 

"  Arrested  on  suspicion  of  having  a  second  time  plot- 
ted thy  escape,"  said  Rosales. 

"  My  noble  and  hapless  Miguel,"  cried  Alonso. 

After  a  moment  of  painful  thought,  he  asked: 

"  And  my  friend  Rafael  ?" 

"  The  regidor  is  also  in  prison  !" 

"  I  am  fatal  to  all  who  love  me,"  cried  Alonso. 

"There  is  but  one  means  of  setting  them  both  at  lib- 
erty," said  Rosales. 

"  What  is  that  ?  Oh,  tell  me,  tell  me." 

"  Confessing  thy  crime,"  said  Resale's. 

M I  told  thee  I  was  innocent !"  cried  Alonso. 


TORTURE.  263 

"  All  criminals  protest  the  same,"  said  Resales;  "ifthou 
wert  innocent  thou  wouldst  prove  it  by  accounting  for 
thy  absence  on  the  night  of  the  i4th  of  June." 

"  I  cannot  as  yet." 

"Is  there  then  a  certain  fixed  period  at  which  this 
revelation  may  be  made  ?" 

"There  is  !"  replied  Alonso. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  asked  Resales. 

"  The  hour  which  sees  the  downfall  of  my  benefactor 

"  The  Count  d'Olivarez  ?" 

"Yes,  my  lord  judge,  but  my  gratitude  towards  him  i» 
both  deep  and  sincere.  .1  cannot  wish  that  that  hour 
should  approach." 

"Hearken  to  me,"  said  Resales;  "for  the  past  four 
months  thou  hast  undergone  examination  after  exami- 
nation, and  thou  hast  never  yet  contradicted  thyself  nor 
varied  in  thy  tissue  of  well-concocted  falsehood.  Thou 
art  suffering  here,  no  doubt,  from  these  fetters  upon  thy 
hands  and  feet,  the  dampness  of  this  cell,  and  thy  in- 
sufficient food,  but  thou  still  hast  hope  that  thou  n.ayest 
be  forgotten." 

"Not  so,  Resales,"  said  Alonso;  "the  other  judges 
might  forget,  but  I  know  thou  wilt  always  remember." 

A  sudden  flush  overspread  Resale's'  sallow  counte- 
nance. 

"  The  clemency  of  the  King,  supported  by  the  protector 
whose  name  thou  didst  this  moment  mention,  has  hither- 
to protected  thee.  But  the  Count  d'Olivarez  can  in  future 
protect  no  one.  Convicted  of  secret  negotiations  with 
the  house  of  Braganza,  of  having  amassed  a  fortune  at 
the  expense  of, the  people,  and  betrayed  the  master  who 
had  treated  him  as  a  friend,  he  has  fled  from  Spain  to 
escape  the  final  punishment." 

"  Can  this  be  true  ?"  cried  Alonso. 


264  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

"  So  thou  art  free  to  speak,"  said  Rosal6s. 

"  I  do  not  believe  thee,"  said  Alonso. 

"  To-morrow  thou  wilt  have  proof  of  what  I  say." 

"Then  I  will  speak  !"  said  Alonso.  "I  will  say  that, 
urged  by  a  most  solemn  obligation,  I  spent  that  terrible 
night  in  a  wretched  house  in  Madrid,  with  two  young 
creatures  whom  I  felt  in  conscience  bound  to  assist  and 
to  save." 

"  Their  names  ?"  said  Rosal6s. 

"  Thou  dost  forget,  Sefior,  that  I  have  no  proof  of  the 
disgrace  of  the  Count  d'Olivarez,  Marquis  di  San  Lucar." 

He  added  with  touching  sadness: 

"  And  even  when  I  have  told  thee  all,  thou  wilt  refuse 
to  believe  it." 

"  Thou  canst,  no  doubt,  support  thy  statements  by 
evidence?" 

"  Nay,  I  have  no  proofs." 

"  Thou  deemest  the  law  harsh  and  cruel,"  said  Resales 
"but  hearken  to  the  advice  I  give  thee,  Alonso  Cano;  con- 
fess thy  crime,  and  the  clemency  of  the  King  will  miti- 
gate the  severity  of  thy  sentence  as  far  as  possible.  Nay, 
he  may  even  grant  thee  an  absolute  pardon.  But  re- 
member that  I  now  offer  thee  a  final  chance;  if  thou  dost 
now  refuse  to  confess,  if  the  assessor  appointed  to  take 
thy  deposition  does  not  record  a  complete  and  formal 
avowal  of  thy  crime,  thou  wilt  be  questioned  no  longer 
by  men." 

"  By  whom,  then  ?"  asked  Alonso. 

"  By  instruments  of  torture." 

Alonso  groaned.  He  had  long  dreaded  this  terrible 
announcement.  He  dreaded  it,  for  however  brave  one 
may  be,  he  shrinks  affrighted  from  red-hot  irons,  bloody 
pincers,  the  rack  and  thumb-screws.  There  are  instinctive 
terrors  which  affright  the  body.  The  muscles  quiver,  the 


TORTURE.  265 

nerves  are  strained,  and  imagination  shows  all  the  com- 
ing tortures  which  are  already  felt  by  anticipation. 

"Thou  didst  never  dream  that  such  an  hour  would 
come  for  thee,  Alonso  Cano,"  hissed  Resales. 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  was  prepared  for  it,"  said  Alonso 
in  a  firm  and  courageous  voice;  "  for  four  months  pas*, 
my  existence  here  has  been  one  long  torture;  thou  art 
going  to  add  a  more  excruciating  one.  I  only  ask  of  our 
Lord  the  grace  to  endure  it  patiently,  for  love  of  Him." 

Resales  was  right  when  he  said  that  Olivarez  had 
hitherto  used  all  his  influence  with  the  King  to  protect 
Alonso,  despite  the  eager  demands  of  the  judges,  who 
were  anxious  to  finish  what  threatened  to  be  an  inter- 
minable case.  Philip,  who  had  refused  to  believe  Herrera 
capable  of  counterfeiting  when  he  marked  the  perfection 
of  a  picture  just  completed  by  him,  could  not  believe 
that  Alonso  Cano  had  murdered  his  wife  when  he  saw 
his  marvellous  Madonna  exposed  upon  the  cathedral 
steps.  Such  fervent  inspiration,  so  peaceful  a  vision  of 
Heaven  as  were  there  depicted,  could  never  have  been 
allied  with  the  instincts  of  a  murderer.  The  hand  which 
had  produced  the  figure  of  the  "  Dead  Christ  wept  over 
by  an  angel,"  could  never  have  grasped  the  dagger  of  an 
assassin.  Alonso's  genius  remained  his  best  defence. 
Hence,  against  all  the  demands  of  the  judges,  and  the 
requisitions  of  the  court,  Philip  IV.  had  been  his  inde- 
fatigable protector.  Olivarez  too  had  upheld  his  cause 
with  the  devotion  of  a  brother.  But  when  the  minister, 
the  favorite,  whose  government  had  discredited  Philip 
with  the  people,  was  forever  fallen  in  his  sovereign's  esti- 
mation; when  he  found  the  Marquis  de  San  Lucar  as 
ungrateful  as  he  had  been  powerful,  the  King  began  to 
regard  with  equal  disfavor  all  who  had  served  the  former 
favorite,  or  received  kindness  from  him. 


266  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

Resale's,  seizing  what  he  thought  a  favorable  moment 
to  deprive  Alonso  of  a  life  already  so  miserable,  was  no 
sooner  informed  of  the  downfall  of  Olivarez,  than  he 
hastened  to  the  King  to  request  an  order  empowering 
him  to  bring  the  trial  to  a  close. 

"  Is  it  not  finished  yet  ?"  asked  the  King. 

"  Nay,  the  Count  d'Olivarez  protected  him,  sire,"  said 
Resales. 

The  King  frowned. 

"  Thou  hast  no  positive  proof  against  this  artist  ?"  he 
asked. 

"None!" 

"  Acquit  him  then." 

"  There  is  a  form  to  be  gone  through  with." 

"  Go  through  with  it  then,"  said  Philip  briefly,  "  and 
let  me  hear  no  more  of  this  matter." 

"  It  shall  be  done  according  to  your  majesty's  good 
pleasure,"  said  Resales,  "  but  it  still  requires  one  thing." 

"  What  is  that  ?" 

"  Thy  signature." 

The  King  cast  his  eyes  over  the  document. 

"Torture!"  cried  he,  "torture!" 

"  It  is  the  law!"  said  Rosal6s  coldly. 

"Not  that,  ah,  not  that!"  cried  the  King;  "is  there  no 
other  means  ?" 

"  They  have  all  failed,  sire!" 

"  Since  then  he  denies  it,"  said  the  King,  in  an  agitated 
voice,  "  and  proofs  are  wanting,  set  him  free." 

"  And  with  him  all  the  wretches  who  fill  the  dungeons 
of  the  prison,  and  like  this  Cano  deny  their  guilt." 

"  Set  free  thieves  and  brigands  ?"  cried  the  King. 

"  If  your  majesty  would  liberate  murderers,  why  not  ?" 
said  Rosal6s. 

"  But  it  would  be  too  horrible,"  said  the  King;  "  a  man 


TORTURE.  267 

whose  hand  I  have  touched  in  friendship,  a  great  artist 
whose  pictures  decorate  our  churches,  and  whose  statues 
are  the  crowning  glory  of  Spanish  art!  I  cannot  and  will 
not  sign  it." 

Resales  bowed  with  affected  submission. 

"  May  I  then  announce  that  your  majesty  has  given 
orders  for  the  release  of  all  the  prisoners?"  said  he. 

"  No,  Resales,  no.  In  truth  this  terrible  responsibility 
weighs  upon  me.  To  be  too  indulgent  towards  criminals 
is  as  bad  as  being  unrelenting  towards  the  unfortunate. 
Let  us  remember  that  Don  Pedro's  title  to  glory  was 
that  he  called  himself  the  Executioner.  Rosales  if  thou 
canst  not  mitigate  this  law,  of  which  I  curse  the  severity, 
spare  Alonso  as  much  as  possible.  I  will  send  my  own 
confessor  to  him,  and  if  he  must,  indeed,  suffer  that  he 
may  be  led  to  confess  his  crime,  I  absolutely  forbid  thee, 
hearest  thou,  to  touch  his  right  hand,  that  hand  which  I 
have  pressed,  and  which  has  created  immortal  works." 

Philip  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  and  groaned 
aloud.  When  he  looked  up  Rosales  was  gone,  taking 
with  him  an  order  that  Alonso  should  be  put  to  the  tor- 
ture. The  judge,  who  had  thus  his  revenge  in  his  hand, 
did  not  lose  a  single  instant;  he  feared  that  the  King 
might  revoke  the  order,  or  that  Gaspardo  del  Roca 
might  make  some  effort  to  save  the  artist  from  the  hor- 
rors that  awaited  him. 

Did  Rosales  believe  him  guilty  ?  The  secret  remained 
between  God  and  himself;  but  he  was  resolved  in  any 
case  that,  innocent  or  guilty,  Alonso  should  come  out  of 
that  ordeal  mutilated  in  body  or  sullied  in  honor. 

At  this  awful  announcement  which  Rosal6s  made, 
with  a  coldness  that  but  ill  concealed  a  cruel  joy,  Alonso 
summoned  to  his  aid  the  courage  that  is  born  of  inno- 
cence. He  rose  from  the  ground,  drew  himself  proudly 


268  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

up,  and  fixing  his  eyes  upon  Resales  with  an  expression 
which  made  the  latter  quail,  said: 

"  I  am  ready." 

"  Rosales  made  a  sign  to  the  torch-bearers  to  proceed, 
and  in  another  moment  Alonso,  accompanied  by  the 
jailer,  passed  up  the  staircase  leading  from. his  cell  to 
other  subterranean  dungeons.  As  we  have  before  hinted, 
Alonso's  cell  was  in  the  very  bowels  of  the  earth,  so  that 
he  could  go  up  a  hundred  steps,  at  least,  before  reaching 
the  ground  level. 

Two  large  rooms  facing  each  other  opened  at  the  head 
of  the  second  stairs.  The  jailer  threw  open  the  one  upon 
the  left,  and  the  soldiers  thrust  Alonso  in.  No  sooner 
had  Rosales  and  his  assessor  crossed  the  threshold  than 
they  were  lost  in  a  deep  obscurity.  At  first  Alonso  could 
distinguish  nothing.  He  only  felt  that  he  was  in  a 
large  room.  Accustomed  as  he  had  been  for  so  long  a 
time  to  the  cramped  existence  of  his  cell,  he  knew  at 
once,  from  the  circulation  of  the  air,  that  the  room  was 
large,  high,  and  vaulted.  The  torches  of  the  soldiers 
scarcely  shed  a  flickering  light  therein;  men  clad  in 
leather  seized  upon  him,  and  the  soldiers  withdrew. 

Alonso  shuddered  with  horror. 

The  soldiers  at  least  were  men,  but  he  was  conscious 
that  those  who  now  surrounded  him  were  executioners. 
He  heard  RosaleY  voice  close  by,  and  yet,  even  on  turn- 
ing his  head,  could  not  distinguish  him. 

Soon  a  red  glare  was  reflected  upon  the  ground  at  the 
artist's  feet,  and  he. saw  that  the  room  was  divided  into 
two  by  a  large  black  curtain.  From  behind  this  curtain 
came  the  red  light.  All  at  once  the  curtain  was  with- 
drawn, and  Alonso  had  the  feeling  that  one  has  on  sud 
denly  beholding  a  conflagration. 

At  the  end  of  the  second  half  of  the  chamber  of  torture 


TORTURE.  269 

Alonso  saw  a  glowing  furnace,  beside  which  two  men, 
fantastic  in  the  red  light,  were  busy  heating  pincers  and 
bars  of  iron  upon  the  live  coals. 

Close  by  a  hideous,  deformed  being  was  filling  casks 
of  water,  and  two  gigantic  figures  were  arranging  the 
thumb- screws  and  the  rack. 

The  walls  were  hung  with  strange  instruments,  vague 
in  form  and  terribly  mysterious  as  to  their  use. 

Seated  at  a  table,  upon  which  were  two  iron  candle- 
sticks, Resales  and  the  assessor  preserved  their  ordinary 
impassibility.  They  gave  Alonso  time  to  observe  all  the 
ominous  objects  which  filled  this  subterranean  apart- 
ment. When  the  judge  felt  that  Alonso  was  sufficiently 
impressed  by  his  awful  surroundings,  he  said  to  one  of 
the  men: 

"  Remove  the  prisoner's  fetters." 

Alonso  sat  down  on  a  bench,  while  they  successively 
removed  his  irons  and  wristlets.  He  stretched  his  pain- 
ful limbs,  and,  despite  his  courage,  could  not  repress  a 
shudder  at  the  thought  that  in  another  moment  iron, 
wood,  and  fire  must  combine  to  torture  him. 

" Alonso  Cano,"  asked  Resales,  "hast  thou  reflected, 
and  art  thou  now  willing  to  confess  the  execrable  crime 
for  which  thou  must  answer  to  God  and  man  ?" 

"  I  am  innocent !"  said  Alonso. 

"  An  humble  confession  is  a  step  towards  repentance," 
resumed  Rosales.  "Thy  judges  may  be  merciful;  the 
King  may  pardon  thee." 

"  I  am  innocent !"  repeated  Alonso. 

"  Then  prepare  to  suffer  a  most  painful  ordeal  IP  thy 
body." 

"I  accept  it  as  a  martyrdom.  Jesus  too  was  innocent 
when  He  was  delivered  into  the  hands  of  His  execu- 
tioners." 


270  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

Perceiving  a  great  crucifix  hanging  upon  the  bare  wall, 
he  cried  out  with  thrilling  fervor: 

"  I  appeal  to  Thee.  I  am  no  longer  a  man,  but  a  worm, 
a  wretch;  soon  to  be  made  an  object  of  pity  and  disgust. 
Here,  at  Thy  feet,  I  disavow  in  advance  whatsoever  rash 
words  torture  may  wring  from  me.  I  am  innocent,  but 
Thou  knowest  human  weakness.  If  I  come  forth  victori- 
ous from  this  trial,  I  vow  to  consecrate  myself  to  Thee 
forever,  to  fly  from  a  world  which  has  deceived,  betrayed, 
and  tortured  me,  and  to  give  myself  to  Thee  in  poverty 
and  penitence." 

Even  the  executioners  silently  permitted  this  solemn 
invocation. 

The  assessor  went  on  writing,  and  Resale's  said  to 
him: 

"What  art  thou  writing?" 

"  This  prayer  of  Alonso  Cano  !" 

"  Efface  it,"  said  Resales;  "  it  is  my  wish." 

The  judge  then  turned  to  the  men  who  stood  near  the 
rack,  saying: 

"  Do  your  work." 

Alonso  was  seized  and  laid  upon  the  rack,  where  there 
was  a  special  torment  for  every  limb.  Each  of  his  legs 
and  his  left  arm  were  affixed  to  boards  by  solid  pieces  of 
leather.  One  of  the  executioners  then  seized  a  mallet 
and  a  wedge,  and  placing  the  wedge  between  the  boards, 
drove  it  in  with  a  single  blow. 

"  Wilt  thou  confess  ?"  said  Rosal6s. 

"  I  am  innocent,"  said  Alonso;  "  my  blood  be  upon 
thee." 

"  The  second  wedge,"  said  the  judge  coldly. 

The  second  wedge  was  thrust  in  and  a  groan  was 
forced  from  Alonso's  lips. 

"  My  God!"  he  murmured,  but  that  was  all. 


TORTURE.  271 

Resales  trembled  with  rage. 

"  The  third  wedge,"  he  said. 

A  physician  approached  and  felt  Alonso's  pulse. 

He  was  filled  with  the  deepest  pity  for  the  sufferer, 
for  he  felt  instinctively  that  the  judge  aimed  rather  at 
gratifying  some  private  spite  than  at  discovering  the 
truth. 

"  The  prisoner  is  very  weak,"  he  said. 

"The  sound  of  his  voice  has  enough  life  in  it  that 
he  may  well  endure  a  third  trial,"  said  Rosal6s,  "  and 
have  a  care,  doctor,  that  an  excessive  compassion  for 
criminals  may  not  cast  suspicion  upon  thyself." 

At  a  sign  from  Rosales  the  executioner  took  the 
third  wedge.  Alonso  lay  with  closed  eyes.  His  limbs 
seemed  disjointed,  bruised,  and  broken;  his  heart  was 
beating  wildly;  he  thought  it  must  leap  out  of  his 
bosom. 

When  the  third  wedge  was  driven  in  it  wrung  a  cry  of 
agony  from  his  blanched  lips. 

"  Wilt  thou  confess  ?"  cried  Resales. 

"  God  is  my  witness,  I  am  innocent,"  said  Alonso.  "  I 
beg  of  Him  in  His  mercy  to  take  me.  This  is  not  tor- 
ture, but  death." 

"Wretched  assassin!"  cried  Rosales,  "thou  must  con- 
fess thy  crime." 

And  rising  he  called  out  to  the  men  who  stood  beside 
the  furnace: 

"The  pincers!  the  red-hot  pincers!" 

At  that  very  moment  a  clamor  was  heard  without  on 
the  stairs.  The  clanking  of  swords  against  the  pavement 
was  mingled  with  a  confused  murmur,  above  which 
could  be  heard  an  imperious  voice  shouting: 

"An  order  from  the  King!     An  order  from  the  King!" 

And  a  younger  voice  crying: 


272  THE   MONK'S   PARDON. 

"Alonso!     Alonso  my  master!" 

In  this  latter  Alonso  recognized  that  of  Miguel. 

Before  Rosal6s  had  recovered  from  his  surprise,  before 
the  executioners  had  finished  unbinding  Alonso's  limbs, 
Gaspardo  del  Roca  and  Miguel  rushed  into  the  torture- 
chamber. 

"  What  would  you  ?"  cried  Rosal6s,  turning  deadly 
pale. 

"  We  would  snatch  thy  victim  from  thee,  wretch.  Dost 
know  this  seal  and  signature  ?  The  King — " 

"  Pardons  him?"  asked  Rosales. 

"  Nay,  renders  him  justice,"  said  Del  Roca. 

Meanwhile  Miguel  took  his  hapless  master  in  his  arms 
and  laid  him  on  a  mattress. 

"My  master!  my  venerated  master!"  said  he,  kneeling 
beside  him,  "  thou  art  saved!  Spain  will  rise  en  masse  to 
testify  her  admiration  and  regret.  I  have  never  doubted 
thine  innocence;  the  King  and  court  are  now  convinced 
of  it." 

"  Who  has  worked  this  miracle  ?" 

"The  sister  of  Sebastian  Llano  y  Valdez." 

"  She  is  in  Madrid  ?" 

"  Since  this  morning.  Seeking  thee,  inquiring  thy 
whereabouts,  she  learned  all.  Then  hastening  to  Sefior 
del  Roca  she  made  known  to  him  the  plot  formed  by  her 
husband  and  a  number  of  other  young  nobles  against  the 
Count  d'Olivarez,  and  with  it  all  thy  generosity  and  self- 
sacrifice.  Gaspardo  did  not  lose  a  moment  in  hastening 
to  the  King,  who  signed  at  once  the  order  for  thy  re- 
lease. Unhappily  this  man's  hatred  has  got  the  start  of 
us,  against  all  law,  all  custom,  all  demands  of  justice. 
But  thou  shalt  be  avenged,  master,  and  the  disgrace  of 
Rosales — " 

"  Speak  not  of  vengeance,"  said  Alonso,  "  I  have  su/ 


TORTURE.  2/3 

fered  so  much  that  I  have  learned  how  to  forgive. 
Should  I  die  from  the  effects  of  this  terrible  ordeal  it  will 
be  in  peace,  reconciled  with  men,  and  full  of  confidence 
in  the  mercy  of  God." 

But  Gaspardo  del  Roca  had  positive  orders. 

"  In  what  cell  was  Alonso  Cano  confined  ?"  he  asked 
*,he  jailer. 

"  In  the  lowest,  my  lord  judge,"  said  the  jailer. 

"  The  lowest,  the  smallest,  the  vilest,  no  doubt,"  said 
the  judge. 

"Those  were  my  orders,"  said  the  jailer,  pointing  to 
Resales. 

"  Henceforth  thou  wilt  obey  mine,"  said  Gaspardo. 
"  Take  this  man,  this  dishonest  judge,  to  the  cell  of  Alonso 
Cano." 

And  before  the  martyr  stretched  upon  the  mattress  had 
time  to  beg  pardon  for  his  persecutor  the  soldiers  had 
dragged  Resales  ftoxr*  the  torture-chamber. 


THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE  KING'S  PRESENT. 

THE  studio  of  Alonso  Cano  was  once  more  open  to  the 
public.  It  had  recovered  its  pristine  grandeur  and  that 
air  of  sublimity  which  made  it  the  most  remarkable  room 
in  Madrid,  and  unsurpassed  as  an  artistic  centre  save, 
perchance,  by  the  gorgeous  salon  of  Velasquez,  which  was 
in  the  King's  own  palace. 

The  affectionate  zeal  of  his  old  servants  had  restored 
everything  to  its  former  order.  The  pictures  were  again 
displayed  in  the  most  favorable  lights,  and  the  rays  of 
the  sun  came  down  once  more  through  the  glass  over- 
head and  gilded  as  of  yore  the  countless  works  of  art 
which  filled  the  room. 

To  console  Alonso  for  his  sufferings  by  permitting  him 
the  more  quickly  to  gaze  upon  the  glorious  works  of  his 
own  hand,  a  bed  had  been  arranged  for  him  at  one  end 
of  the  studio.  It  was,  in  fact,  rather  a  heap  of  silken 
cushions  and  soft  warm  rugs  than  a  bed;  a  fine  netting 
protected  him  during  the  night,  and  in  the  day  draperies 
veiled  the  light  from  his  wasted  face. 

No  sooner  had  Gaspardo  and  the  devoted  Miguel,  act- 
ing upon  the  King's  orders,  released  Cano  and  cast  Rosa- 
16s  into  the  same  dungeon  to  which  he  had  consigned 
his  victim,  than  a  physician  was  brought  to  give  every 
possible  attention  to  Alonso.  It  was  the  same  who  had 
manifested  such  great  compassion  for  Cano,  and  who 
would  fain  have  mitigated  the  horrors  of  his  torture.  He 


THE   KING'S   PRESENT.  275 

now  did  all  that  zeal  and  science  united  could  do  to  heal 
the  cruel  wounds  in  Cano's  legs  and  arms. 

The  wounds  were  washed  with  aromatic  spirits;  the 
wounded  limbs  were  kept  by  splints  in  their  normal  po- 
sition, while  bandages  prevented  him  from  moving  them. 
Nature  and  time  alone  could  fully  restore  them.  The 
bones  had  to  reknit  and  the  flesh  to  heal.  There  was  no 
reason  to  despair  of  ultimate  recovery,  and  Vego,  this 
learned  physician,  promised  Alonso  that  he  would  give 
him  back  the  use  of  his  legs  and  his  left  arm. 

After  all  this  had  been  done  Gaspardo  and  Miguel  car- 
ried him  in  their  arms  to  a  room  higher  up  in  the  prison, 
till  his  own  house  should  be  rendered  habitable,  and  he 
himself  gain  needed  rest  before  undergoing  the  fatigue 
of  removal. 

A  litter  was  prepared  for  that  purpose.  As  the  news 
of  these  events  had  spread  through  the  town  every  one 
of  any  importance  in  Madrid  came  to  ask  for  tidings  of 
the  unfortunate.  The  whole  city  seemed  to  feel  that  it 
owed  some  reparation  to  a  man  of  genius  who  had  been 
so  cruelly  maltreated  in  body  and  tormented  in  mind. 

Hence,  when  the  great  doors  of  the  prison  were  thrown 
open  and  the  litter  upon  which  Alonso  was  carried  came 
into  view,  cries  of  pity  and  enthusiasm  arose  from  the 
crowd.  It  was  a  perfect  ovation  to  the  hapless  artist; 
sobs  mingled  with  wishes  for  a  long  and  happy  life;  the 
women  snatched  pinks  and  pomegranate  blossoms  from 
their  hair  and  threw  them  upon  the  litter.  Miguel's  de- 
votion was  fully  applauded,  and  people  cordially  wished 
the  garote  to  Resales  as  a  punishment  for  his  hate. 

Meanwhile  Alonso,  pale  and  motionless,  his  eyes  alone 
gleaming  out  from  the  corpse-like  pallor  of  his  face,  ex- 
perienced the  only  consolation  which  this  world  could 
give  him,  that  of  being  surrounded  by  all  the  honest 


276  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

people  of  the  capital,  where,  upon  that  day,  he  was  more 
truly  King  than  the  King  himself. 

A  group  of  Alonso's  pupils  followed  their  master. 
Conspicuous  among  them  were  Bartholomeo  Roman  and 
Pedro  Castello,  with  all  the  others  who  had  gloried  in 
studying  under  Cano's  direction. 

Lello  Lelli  alone  was  absent,  and  it  was  whispered 
with  disgust  and  horror  that  at  that  very  time  he  was 
drinking  in  a  low  tavern,  and  prophesying  that  Alonso 
Cano  could  never  survive  the  injuries  he  had  received. 

When  the  artist  reached  his  own  door  every  head  was 
uncovered.  The  bell  of  the  neighboring  convent  rang 
out  with  a  joyful  sound,  and  it  seemed  to  the  people  that 
its  brazen  tongue  invited  them  to  pray  for  him  who  had 
so  nearly  lost  his  life  at  the  hands  of  the  executioners. 

All  hearts  and  minds  joined  in  one  fervent  prayer  to 
Heaven,  and  during  this  brief  instant  of  devout  recollec- 
tion Alonso  Cano  was  borne  across  the  threshold  of  his 
dwelling. 

Miguel  had  taken  charge  of  everything.  Juana,  Mer- 
cedes' old  nurse,  had  returned  to  the  house  of  mourning, 
and  received  her  master  kneeling.  Alonso  was  soon  laid 
upon  the  bed  in  the  studio.  The  angelic  patience  with 
which  he  endured  months  of  suffering  provoked  general 
admiration.  He  spent  whole  hours  conversing  with 
priests  and  monks.  Amongst  others,  one  day,  the  Ab- 
bot of  Porta  Cceli  was  announced. 

"  I  knew  I  should  see  thee  again,"  said  Alonso. 

His  visit  seemed  to  leave  Alonso  calmer  and  happier 
than  he  had  been  yet. 

Every  day  Alonso  received  his  friends.  Velasquez  was 
one  of  the  most  assiduous,  and  his  beautiful  wife,  the 
daughter  of  the  venerable  Pacheco,  always  accompanied 
her  husband.  Seeing  her  so  full  of  life  and  happiness, 


THE  KING'S   PRESENT. 

so  proud  of  her  beauty  and  her  costumes,  Alonso  remem- 
bered his  poor  Mercedes,  who  had  so  envied  the  brocade 
robes  and  jewelled  necklaces  that  bedecked  the  wife  of 
the  King's  favorite. 

Philip  himself  sent  every  day  for  news  of  the  artist, 
but  he  never  came  during  all  the  time  of  Alonso's  conva- 
lescence. Perchance  his  sorrow  and  regret  were  too 
great  to  allow  him  to  see  Alonso  upon  his  bed  of  pain. 
But  as  soon  as  the  painter  was  up  and  able  to  use  his 
brush  the  King  sent  to  ask  him  to  continue  the  portrait 
begun  on  the  ill-omened  day  of  Mercedes*  murder.  Alon- 
so replied  gently: 

"  Tell  the  King  I  am  at  his  orders." 

Just  as  before,  when  the  royal  carriage  stopped  at 
Alonso's  door,  the  pupils  ranged  themselves  in  the  vesti- 
bule. Leaning  upon  Miguel's  arm,  Alonso  Cano  slowly 
advanced  to  meet  his  royal  master.  At  sight  of  him  the 
King  could  not  conceal  his  deep  emotion. 

He  scarcely  recognized  in  that  pale,  emaciated  spectre 
the  man  whom  he  had  known  in  all  the  fire  of  youth  and 
enthusiasm,  robust  in  body,  powerful  in  mind,  greeting 
hope  with  smiles,  and  finding  in  the  applause  of  men  a 
solace  for  secret  sorrow. 

Alonso  advanced,  and,  with  the  same  respect  as  of  yore, 
bowed  and  made  a  feeble  effort  to  bend  the  knee.  The 
effort  was  a  failure  and  wrung  from  him  a  cry  of  pain. 
The  King  turned  paler  even  than  the  artist.  He  seemed 
to  be  preserving  his  composure  only  by  a  mighty  effort. 
He  had  come  with  the  intention  of  ignoring  the  past. 
He  feared  to  awaken  painful  memories  in  the  bosom 
of  Alonso,  and  to  do  him  an  injury  perhaps  by  the  ef- 
fect of  such  retrospection  upon  an  organization  so  enfee- 
bled. 

Philip  approached  the  portrait,  which  still  remained 


278  THE   MONK'S   PARDON. 

sketched  upon  the  easel,  in  the  same  position  where 
Alonso  had  placed  it  four  years  before. 

"  Art  thou  strong  enough  to  complete  this  work  ?"  said 
the  King. 

The  artist  smiled  with  a  sadness  in  which  there  was  a 
touch  of  gentle  irony. 

"  My  right  hand,"  he  said,  "  has  never  lost  its  power. 
I  have  been  only  six  months  idle." 

The  sitting  was  long.  Philip  made  every  possible  ef- 
rort  to  banish  the  sadness  from  Alonso's  face.  He  con- 
stantly referred  to  the  future,  which  he  pictured  to  the 
artist  more  glorious  than  his  wildest  dream  had  ever 
imaged  it.  In  every  word  a  promise  lay  concealed.  It 
was  plain  that  his  sovereign  was  anxious  to  repair  Alon- 
so's wrongs,  and  to  console  him  in  his  sorrows.  The  lat- 
ter scarcely  seemed  to  understand  the  counsels  of  the 
King  or  to  hear  his  flattering  encouragement.  It  would 
seem  that  his  soul  had  passed  into  a  calmer  sphere  than 
this,  and  that  he  no  longer  deigned  to  bring  it  down  from 
celestial  heights  to  mingle  with  those  who  still  suffered 
or  still  enthusiastically  rejoiced  at  perishable  goods  and 
fleeting  happiness. 

There  was  not  only  a  wonderful  calm  upon  Alonso's 
face,  but  a  species  of  interior  joy  that  illumined  it  with 
its  tranquil  reflection. 

Philip  IV.  regarded  the  artist  with  astonishment.  He 
had  expected  to  find  a  man  wearing  his  sorrow  like  a 
mantle,  and  awaiting,  as  it  were,  the  apologies  of  his 
sovereign.  On  the  contrary,  he  met  with  a  being  simple 
and  gentle,  far  more  humble  than  of  old,  and  whose 
countenance  was  marked  with  the  peace  of  those  for 
whom  earth  is  but  a  ladder  to  Heaven. 

On  the  other  hand,  Alonso  had  lost  nothing  of  his  ar- 
tistic power;  a  melancholy  grace  added  an  indefinable 


THE   KING'S   PRESENT.  279 

charm  to  all  he  did.  Unconsciously  he  changed  the 
character  of  his  prince's  face.  Certain  shadows  soft- 
ened it,  and  it  bore  the  prophetic  sadness  of  future  sor- 
rows. And  when  the  King  expressed  his  astonishment 
at  the  progress  made  by  Alonso  in  a  single  sitting  the 
artist  calmly  replied: 

"  Of  yore,  sire,  I  painted  with  my  mind;  now  I  paint 
with  my  soul." 

At  nightfall  Philip  rose  to  go.     He  said  to  the  artist: 

"  Hast  thou  nothing  to  ask  of  me  ?" 

"  Many  things,"  said  Alonso,  "  since  thou  dost  permit 
me  to  speak." 

"  Not  only  I  permit  thee,  but  I  promise  beforehand." 

"  Then  thou  wilt  sign  Rosales'  pardon  ?" 

"A  wretch  who  pursued  thee  with  his  hatred  !" 

"  He  believed  himself  acting  in  the  interests  of  just- 
ice." 

"  Undeceive  thyself.  Gaspardo  del  Roca  told  me  all," 
said  the  King.  "  Rosales  had  been  a  suitor  for  Dofiq 
Mercedes;  he  hated  thee  as  his  successful  rival." 

"  Then  God  grant  him  mercy,  as  fully  as  I  pardon 
him,"  said  Alonso. 

"  Thou  dost  still  make  this  request  ?" 

"  I  desire  it  more  ardently  than  ever,"  said  Alonso. 

"  Thy  virtue  is  too  great,"  said  the  King. 

"  Your  majesty  will  deign  to  admit  that  it  is  strictly  in 
accordance  with  the  law  ?" 

"  Be  it  so  then,"  said  the  King.      "  Rosal6s  is  free  !" 

"  I  thank  your  majesty  most  humbly." 

"  Is  that  all  ?" 

"  Miguel  did  more  for  me  than  if  he  were  my  own  son," 
said  Alonso'  "deign  then  to  grant  him  a  share  in  thy 
royal  favor,  and  give  him  an  opportunity  to  display  hi* 
talent. 


280  THE   MONK'S   PARDON. 

"  He  shall  decorate  a  hall  of  the  palace." 

"  Your  majesty  overpowers  me." 

"  And  yet  I  can  see  that  thou  art  not  yet  satisfied  ?" 

"  I  admit  it." 

"  What  more  can  I  do  for  thee  ?" 

"Your  majesty  knows  my  history,  and  under  what  cir- 
cumstances I  quitted  Granada — " 

"Alonso,  I  implore  thee,  do  not  dwell  upon  these 
memories." 

"On  the  contrary,  I  owe  it  to  myself  and  others  to 
keep  them  ever  present  to  my  mind.  When  Sebastian 
Llano  y  Valdez  fell  beneath  my  sword  his  sister  was  left 
doubly  orphaned.  She  since  wedded  a  brave  young  lord, 
who,  out  of  an  extravagant  care  for  the  welfare  of  Spain 
and  a  passionate  devotion  to  his  King,  became  involved 
in  a  conspiracy  against  the  Count  d'Olivarez." 

"  Speak  not  of  him,"  cried  Philip,  in  a  tone  of  severity. 

"  Yet  I  remember  and  must  continue  to  remember 
him,"  said  Alonso  firmly.  "  To  him,  who  has  ruined 
himself  by  ambition,  I  owe  the  honor  of  having  been  pre- 
sented to  your  majesty.  I  know  nothing  of  the  Marquis 
di  San  Lucar  but  his  misfortune,  and  I  still  have  my  debt 
of  gratitude  towards  him.  The  husband  of  Inez  Llano 
hated  the  favorite,  and  conspired  for  his  downfall.  He 
lost,  in  the  service  of  his  royal  master,  his  modest  for- 
tune and  his  peace  of  mind." 

"  Wouldst  thou  for  him  a  place  in  my  household  ?" 

"  Ah,  sire  !" 

"  It  is  given.  To-morrow  he  may  appear  at  the 
palace." 

Alonso  bowed  respectfully. 

"  And  thou  ?"  said  the  King. 

"  I  have  need  of  nothing  !" 

"  Is  that  resentment  ?"  asked  the  King. 


THE   KING'S   PRESENT.  28 1 

"  It  is  discretion!" 

"  Let  me  then  anticipate  thy  wishes." 

"  They  are  so  moderate,  sire,  thou  couldst  never  guess 
them." 

"  I  will  try,"  said  Philip  graciously. 

He  extended  his  hand,  which  Alonso  kissed,  and  turn- 
ing upon  the  threshold,  said: 

"  Till  to-morrow  !" 

Philip  came  every  day  for  a  week  to  the  studio.  The 
portrait  was  finished.  Never  had  artist  completed  a 
finer  piece  of  work.  He  rejoiced,  but  took  not  the  slight- 
est pride  in  it.  He  seemed  every  day  to  grow  more  de- 
tached from  the  things  of  earth;  however,  he  thanked 
the  King  warmly  when  he  heard  that  Resales  was  re- 
leased, and  that  Inez  was  happy  with  her  husband,  to 
whom  the  King  had  vouchsafed  his  special  protection. 
It  was  evident  that  Alonso  was  guarding  some  secret. 
His  resolution  was,  indeed,  taken — a  resolution  born  of 
solitude  and  silence.  All  his  leisure  time  was  spent  in 
the  practice  of  good  works,  or  in  visiting  convents  of 
miraculous  shrines. 

Every  one  whom  he  met  in  the  streets  saluted  him 
with  the  deepest  respect.  Many  regarded  him  as  a  saint, 
and  saw  around  his  head  the  aureola  of  much  sorrow 
heroically  endured. 

The  wretched  dwellings  of  the  unfortunate  knew  him 
far  better  than  the  palaces  of  the  great.  His  name,  men- 
tioned with  enthusiasm  by  the  one,  was  humbly  and 
devoutly  blessed  by  the  other. 

The  portrait  of  the  King  only  wanted  a  few  of  those 
touches  which  give  the  final  charm  and  perfection  to  a 
picture.  Cano  knew  that  the  King  was  to  sit  for  the 
last  time  in  his  studio.  He  felt  more  than  an  artist's  joy 
at  the  completion  of  the  work;  his  heart  was  relieved  of  a 


282  THE  -MONK'S  PARDON. 

great  weight.  It  was  /ike  the  breaking  of  a  chain  which 
left  him  wholly  free. 

On  the  morning  of  the  day  upon  which  the  King's 
portrait  was  to  be  finished  the  Abbot  of  Porta  Coeli  paid 
Alonso  a  long  visit. 

"  I  beg  of  thee,"  said  Alonso,  eagerly,  "  to  grant  me 
my  request,  and  at  once." 

"  We  will  talk  of  that  later,"  said  the  monk. 

Then,  leaving  Alonso's  room,  he  went  down  with  him 
to  the  studio. 

Soon  after  the  King  arrived.  The  monk  saluted  him 
humbly,  and  would  have  retired. 

"  Remain,  good  father,  remain,"  cried  Philip  gently. 
"  I  who  am  Cano's  friend  can  understand  how  dear  he  is 
to  thee." 

During  the  sitting  the  King  took  pleasure  in  hearing 
Father  Eusebio  talk  of  Alonso's  stay  at  Porta  Cceli.  The 
monk  was  loud  in  his  praises  of  the  wonderful  statue  of 
St.  Francis  of  Assisium,  which  he  declared  was  a  master- 
piece of  carving  in  wood. 

"  I  will  go  thither  to  see  it,  as  we  go  upon  pilgrim- 
ages," said  the  King,  "and  meantime  I  will  send  thee  a 
lamp  of  gold  for  the  sanctuary." 

Shortly  after  Alonso  laid  down  his  brush  and  palette 
upon  the  table  and  said: 

"  Sire,  the  artist  has  done  his  utmost." 

"  It  is  another  masterpiece,  Alonso,"  cried  the  King. 
"  It  remains  to  pay  thee  for  it." 

"Ah,  sire,"  said  Alonso. 

"  Alonso  Cano,  Count  di  Porta  Cceli,"  said  the  King. 

"  That  title — "  cried  the  painter. 

"Is  henceforth  thine,"  said  the  King. 

Then  taking  a  golden  order  from  his  neck  the  King 
said: 


THE   KING'S   PRESENT.  283 

"Accept  it  for  my  sake." 

Alonso  took  it  trembling;  but  did  not  fasten  it  to  his 
doublet. 

The  King  advanced  and  said: 

"Put  on  thy  hat,  Count  di  Porta  Cceli;  thou  art  a 
grandee  of  Spain." 

And  the  King  handed  Alonso  documents  to  which 
were  affixed  the  royal  seal.  The  courtiers  and  great 
nobles,  whom  the  King  had  invited  to  be  present  that 
day,  now  filled  the  studio.  They  looked  at  each  other  in 
amazement.  Never  had  they  seen  an  instance  of  a  favor 
at  once  so  sudden  and  complete.  The  unmerited  suffer- 
ings of  the  artist  justified  all  that  the  King  had  done  for 
him,  and  several  of  the  nobles  advanced  to  congratulate 
Alonso. 

But  before  they  could  reach  him  the  Abbot  Eusebio 
came  out  of  the  shadow  into  which  he  had  retired.  He 
advanced  slowly  to  Alonso  Cano,  and  presented  him 
with  divers  objects. 

"  Here,"  said  he,  "are  the  scapular  worn  by  the  sons 
of  St.  Bruno,  their  wooden  rosary,  and  the  cord  which 
encircles  their  waist." 

"Father!"  cried  Alonso,  "father!" 

Upon  either  side  of  the  table  were  the  monk  and  the 
King.  The  patent  of  nobility  and  the  golden  collar  of  its 
proudest  order  were  side  by  side  with  the  scapular  and 
girdle  of  the  monk.  The  artist  never  hesitated.  He 
gently  pushed  aside  the  King's  present,  and  with  pious 
respect  raised  the  livery  of  the  Sons  of  St.  Bruno  to  his 
lips. 

"What  wouldst  thou  do?"  asked  Philip. 

"Bid  farewell  to  the  world,  sire." 

"Thou,  my  painter,  my prottgt,  my  friend?" 

"  I  am  now  but  the  friend  of  God,  sire." 


284  THE   MONK'S   PARDON. 

"Ah,  thou  hast  not  pardoned  me  !"  cried  Philip. 

"  That  would  be  indeed  unworthy  of  a  Christian,  much 
less  of  a  religious,"  said  Alonso.  "  Do  thou  pardon  me, 
sire,  that  I  must  refuse  favors  the  full  value  of  which  I 
comprehend.  My  gratitude  will  only  end  with  my  life  ; 
from  the  depth  of  the  cloister  wherein  my  remaining 
years  will  be  spent,  I  shall  constantly  ask  of  God  the 
ever-increasing  prosperity  of  Spain  and  the  happiness 
of  my  sovereign." 

"  But  if  thou  shouldst  regret  one  day,  Alonso  ?" 

"  Ah,  sire,  what  have  I  to  regret  ?  Thy  favor?  TV.ou 
wilt  grant  it  to  the  poor  monk,  who  will  paint  as  long  as 
strength  and  inspiration  are  given  him.  Believe  not 
that  this  is  a  sudden  impulse.  For  six  months  past  I 
have  waited  to  pronounce  my  vows;  it  is  two  years  t>ince 
I  first  asked  for  the  holy  habit.  At  the  moment  when  I 
was  being  put  to  the  torture  I  vowed  to  consecrate  my- 
self to  the  service  of  the  Lord  if  I  were  saved  from  pol- 
luting my  lips  by  a  base  falsehood." 

Philip,  deeply  moved,  took  Alonso's  hand. 

"  Thou  wilt  pray  for  me,"  he  said. 

After  they  had  all  gone  Alonso  brought  Miguel  into 
Mercedes'  room. 

"As  thou  hast  henceforth  obeyed  me,"  he  said,  "sweaf 
that  thou  wilt  now  conform  thyself  to  my  desires." 

"I  swear,  master,"  said  Miguel. 

"  Then,  my  dear  boy,  thou  must  never  leave  this  house, 
which  is  now  thine." 

"  Mine,  master !" 

"  I  have  no  other  heirs,  and  I  wish  to  dispose  of  all  my 
goods  before  making  a  vow  of  poverty.  Thou  wilt  keep 
old  Juana  always  in  thy  service.  It  is  sweet  to  believe 
that  nothing  will  be  disturbed  here.  Sometimes  thou 
wilt  think  of  thy  master,  who  sincerely  loved  thee.  No 


THE   KING'S   PRESENT.  285 

word  of  thanks,  my  Miguel,  we  can  never  be  quits. 
Come  to  these  arms  that  I  may  embrace  thee  as  a  son, 
and  bless  thee  in  saying  farewell  forever." 

"  Farewell,  but  we  must  meet  again." 

"  Yes,  I  was  wrong,  MigreL  It  is  rather,  until  we 
meet  again  in  eternity." 


286  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 
THE  GAMBLERS. 

THE  dwelling  of  Sefior  Diego  Fuent6s  y  Marivedas  y 
Fontanillos  was  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  gambling 
house.  He  had,  indeed,  striven  to  adorn  it  with  high- 
sounding  names,  and  conceal  it  under  a  veil  of  honor, 
as  a  rogue  hides  a  face  known  to  the  police  under  a  car- 
nival mask.  A  gambling  house  it  remained  to  all  in- 
tents and  purposes;  and  when  certain  young  men  of 
Madrid,  who  had  not  only  golden  ducats  but  maravt- 
dis  to  spare,  yet  sought  to  increase  their  store  by  the 
chances  of  fortune,  they  always  turned  their  thoughts 
towards  the  dwelling  of  Fuentes. 

To  each  new-comer  Fuent6s  related  the  story  of  his 
misfortunes.  The  cause  thereof  varied  with  each  revo- 
lution. He  always  explained  his  penury,  which  was  the 
child  of  vice  and  prodigality,  by  the  pretence  of  a  con- 
spiracy in  which  he  had  been  mixed  up  in  his  own  de- 
spite; a  desperate  and  persistent  struggle  against  some 
man  in  power.  Fuentes  had  chosen  this  special  role, 
and  perpetuated  himself  in  the  character  of  the  victim 
of  a  political  intrigue.  The  King  remained  on  the 
throne,  it  is  true,  but  he  was  too  loyal  a  subject  of  the 
sovereign  of  the  two  Spains  to  dream  of  overthrowing 
him,  so  he  always  fell  back  upon  favorites.  The  long- 
expected  fall  of  Olivarez  gave  new  scope  to  his  imagina- 
tion, and  from  the  moment  it  occurred  Fuentes  de- 
clared to  all  who  had  patience  to  listen,  that  the  ruin  of 
the  ambitious  minister  had  cost  him  his  fortune,  and 


THE   GAMBLERS.  28/ 

that  his  ducats  had  fallen  into  the  gulf  opened  by  the 
misfortunes  of  the  former  favorite. 

Once  Olivarez  had  left  Spain  Fuentes  expatiated 
upon  the  many  details  of  his  respectful  and  devoted 
friendship  for  the  minister.  The  latter  had  been  his 
foster-brother,  and  Fuentes,  who  had  followed  him  in 
his  gradual  ascent,  had  likewise  fallen  with  him  into  the 
depths  of  the  pit. 

Most  of  the  old  habitufc  of  the  place  knew  what  to 
think  of  these  stories,  but  unsophisticated  strangers 
were  always  deceived  by  them.  Moreover,  Fuentes  was 
specially  gifted  by  nature  for  the  part  he  had  assumed. 
There  was  a  certain  loftiness  in  the  general  expression 
of  the  face,  a  candor  and  openness  in  the  smile,  which 
more  than  counterbalanced  the  low  forehead  and  unpre- 
possessing chin. 

Notwithstanding  the  complacency  with  which  Fuen- 
tes lent  his  house  for  cards  or  other  games  of  chance,  he 
never  made  any  money.  His  doublet  gave  hints  of  long 
service;  his  linen  had  often  a  yellowish  tinge,  which  was 
made  the  subject  of  many  a  rude  joke. 

"  Why,"  he  would  exclaim,  "  I  possess  seven  hundred 
and  thirty  linen  shirts,  so  that  each  one's  turn  comes  but 
rarely.  They  grow  yellow  from  want  of  use.  It  is  an 
embarras  de  richesse,  nothing  else  !" 

Diego  Fuent6s  had  among  his  furniture  an  old  chest 
for  clothes,  which  was  always  easy  to  lift,  and  whose 
emptiness  might  have  told  many  a  tale  of  Diego's  re- 
sources had  it  been  gifted  with  speech. 

But  if  his  guests  jeered  at  him,  they  had  nevertheless 
an  odd  sort  of  friendship  for  him.  He  had  certain  qual- 
ities which  helped  to  counterbalance  his  defects;  his 
patience  was  marvellous,  and  his  readiness  to  oblige 
proverbial.  When  he  possessed  anything,  which  was 


288  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

very  seldom,  indeed,  he  was  always  ready  to  share  it 
with  others.  He  would  have  made  any  sacrifice  to  serve 
a  friend,  and  he  dignified  with  this  title  all  who  fre- 
quented his  house.  He  drank  merrily  of  the  wine  pro- 
vided by  others,  and  always  kept  his  wits  about  him, 
even  when  intoxicated. 

Like  all  good  Spaniards  he  played  the  guitar  and  cas- 
tanets, and  his  thin,  threadbare  voice  had  a  certain  mel- 
ody in  it. 

Fuent6s  threw  open  what  he  pompously  called  his 
drawing-rooms  to  all  hidalgoes  who  honored  him  with 
their  company.  They  indemnified  him  for  fuel  and 
lights  in  the  winter  evenings,  and  when  the  stakes  were 
high  often  gave  him  an  additional  gratuity.  His  profits 
might  have  been  considerable  had  he  not  played  on  his 
own  account,  for  whatever  money  came  into  his  hands 
he  always  lost,  and  was  often  obliged  to  have  recourse 
to  the  generosity  of  some  friend,  or,  at  least,  of  one  of  his 
guests,  who  said  to  him  so  constantly,  with  that  inimita- 
ble accent  which  would  be  Gascon  were  it  not  Spanish: 

"  A  la  disposition  de  us  ted."  * 

He  borrowed,  and  always  forgot  to  pay. 

A  large  number  of  men  usually  assembled  every  even- 
ing at  Fuent6s'  house.  There  were  medical  students, 
pupils  of  celebrated  artists,  and  generally  some  stran- 
gers. The  noise  in  the  lower  room  opening  upon  the 
patio  was  something  diabolical,  and  frequently  the  al- 
guazils  were  obliged  to  call  to  order  the  knots  of  young 
men  who  surrounded  the  gaming-tables. 

It  sometimes  happened  that  the  games  were  inter- 
rupted in  order  to  empty  some  flagons  of  old  wine. 
This  usually  ended  in  an  orgy,  and  if  all  the  guests  did 

*  At  your  service. 


THE   GAMBLERS.  28Q 

not  reach  home  safely  it  was  because  they  slept  in  the 
patio. 

Upon  his  arrival  at  Madrid,  in  the  train  of  Lo  Spagno- 
letto,  Lello  Lelli,  who  had  few  acquaintances  in  the 
town,  managed  to  gain  admittance  to  Diego  Fuentes'. 
He  never  failed  to  appear  there  in  the  evenings.  His 
caustic  wit  often  displeased  the  frequenters  of  the  place, 
but  he  was  free  at  treating  to  wine  or  sherbet,  and 
seemed  to  have  plenty  of  gold  in  his  pouch,  so  he  was 
tolerated. 

Not  that  Lelli  had  grown  rich;  his  pencil  brought 
him  in  less  money  than  ever;  and  if  he  earned  some 
ducats  at  Naples  by  his  trade  of  bully  it  was  an  utterly 
unprofitable  one  at  Madrid.  Ribera,  intent  upon  the 
ruin  of  the  young  prince  whose  downfall  he  was  seek- 
ing to  compass,  left  Lelli  free  to  dispose  of  his  time  as 
lie  liked.  He  went  about  all  day,  and  spent  every  night 
in  the  dwelling  of  Fuentes. 

He  was  always  the  first  to  arrive,  told  Diego  all  the 
news  of  the  day,  what  the  King  had  done,  at  what  of- 
fices the  Queen  had  assisted,  what  drama  Calderon  was 
engaged  upon,  and  how  the  portable  altars  were  to  be 
decorated  for  the  next  religious  procession. 

As  there  were  no  newspapers  in  those  days  Lelli  sup- 
plied  their  place.  Politics,  topics  of  the  day,  or  literary 
matters,  he  discussed,  if  not  with  any  degree  of  superi- 
ority, at  least  with  that  same  ease  which  had  once  made 
the  grave  Alonso  Cano  himself  take  pleasure  in  his  so- 
ciety. Having  exhausted  his  bulletin,  he  usually  chose 
his  place  at  the  table  and  carefully  marked  it. 

Lelli  had  all  the  superstition  of  the  ignorant  Italians, 
and  was  full  of  almost  childis'n  terrors.  Having  decided 
upon  his  place,  he  took  a  chair  and  placed  it  at  the 
table.  Upon  this  chair  he  laid  a  horseshoe  of  pink  coral, 


290  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

mounted  in  gold,  to  drive  away  all  evil  influences  from 
him.  This  done  he  assisted  Diego  in  arranging  the  va- 
rious objects  required  for  the  games — cards,  dice,  chess, 
or  markers — holding  each  in  his  hand  for  a  time,  as  if 
this  contact  could  impart  a  special  virtue  to  them.  The 
snares  being  thus  laid,  he  stationed  himself  in  the  em- 
brasure of  a  window,  and  awaited  the  game. 

The  supper  was  early  in  those  days,  for  the  police  reg- 
ulations obliged  peasants  and  citizens  to  retire  almost 
with  the  sun.  The  guard  arrested  all  who  were  out  in 
defiance  of  this  rule.  Hence  the  play  commenced  at  a 
very  seasonable  hour  in  Fuentes'  house.  The  rooms 
opening  upon  the  patio  were  enabled  to  keep  a  light  long 
after  hours;  and  when  it  was  too  late  to  go  home  the 
gamblers  threw  themselves  on  the  tables  or  on  the  floor 
and  slept  till  morning. 

Diego  made  much  of  Lelli.  Through  him  new  game 
was  brought  to  the  house  every  day.  Lelli  himself,  as 
was  evident,  did  not  often  lose,  for  his  purse  was  usually 
full.  Perchance  some  of  those  whom  he  had  led  into 
this  dangerous  way  cursed  him,  once  his  influence  had 
ceased;  but  for  a  week  at  least  each  remained  under  the 
charm,  and  if  they  broke  with  Lelli,  it  was  only  when 
their  money  had  completely  given  out. 

"Certainly,"  said  Fuentes  to  him  one  evening,  "thou 
hast  done  wonders  towards  increasing  the  number  of 
my  customers,  but  thou  hast  failed  in  one  quarter:  thou 
hast  brought  neither  the  pupils  of  Velasquez  nor  those 
who  once  studied  with  Alonso  Cano." 

"Patience!"  said  Lelli;  "have  patience." 

"  Thou  hast  often  repeated  that  word  to  me,"  said 
Diego,  "  but  I  begin  to  think  that  there  are  souls  over 
which  the  devil  has  no  power;  and  honest  young  men 
who  will  never  come  here." 


THE   GAMBLERS.  2QI 

Lelli  burst  out  laughing. 

"  Take  no  wager  upon  that,  Fuentes,"  he  said. 

"  Why  ?" 

"  Thou  wilt  lose." 

"Thinkest  thou  that  Miguel  will  come?" 

"Yes,  Miguel  himself." 

"  Dost  thou  not  fear  to  meet  him  ?" 

"Wherefore  should  I  fear?" 

"I  know  not,  save  that  he  hath  maltreated  thee  be- 
fore." 

"  In  words,"  said  Lelli. 

"  Didst  thou  not  answer  him  ?" 

"I  never  answer  insults  by  insults,"  said  Lelli. 

"  How,  then  ?" 

"With  this!"  said  Lelli,  pointing  to  his  stiletto. 

"  Have  a  care!     It  would  need  but  a  word — " 

"Which  no  one  would  dare  to  speak!" 

"  Or  an  act !" 

"I  will  beware  of  all  imprudence." 

"  Miguel  has  a  poor  opinion  of  thee." 

"  Yet  he  will  come,  I  tell  thee." 

"  To-day  ?" 

"No;  to-morrow." 

"Why  wouldst  thou  bring  him  here?" 

"He  is  rich,"  said  Lelli;  "the  King,  in  memory  of 
his  friend  and  master,  Alonso  Cano,  loads  him  with  fa- 
vors. He  has  given  him  the  decoration  of  a  hall  in  the 
palace,  and  the  sargas  for  the  next  procession.  In  a 
year's  time  he  will  bear  the  title  of  painter  to  the  Kmg. 
Oh,  I  did  not  set  the  bait  of  gambling  for  him;  he  would 
not  bite.  A  young  merchant  who  does  business  in  the 
Indies  has  arranged  to  meet  him  here,  promising  to  give 
him  a  large  order  for  pictures.  Now  when  one  has 


THE   MONK'S  PARDON. 

tasted  the  forbidden  fruit  one  generally  desires  to  finish 
it." 

"  Who  dost  thou  bring  me  to-night  ?" 

"The  young  Francesco,  and  this  merchant  who  is  t<J 
lure  Miguel  herf  to-morrow." 

A  snatch  of  a  scng  was  just  then  heard  in  the  street 
without,  and  the  conspirators  made  a  sign  to  each  othei 
to  be  silent. 

A  young  man  entered.  He  could  not  have  been  more 
than  sixteen;  his  hair  was  of  that  peculiar  red  in  vogue 
at  that  period,  and  which  was  lent  by  artificial  means 
if  the  hair  were  naturally  dark.  This  youth,  already 
worn  out  by  late  hours,  seemed  scarcely  able  to  bear  the 
burden  of  mere  existence,  and  dropped  into  a  large  arm- 
-chair. 

"Heaven!  but  I  am  bored,  Fuent6s,"  said  he,  "al- 
ways and  everywhere!  At  thy  house  less  than  else- 
where, I  admit,  but  even  here  I  am  not  sure  of  finding 
amusement.  It  is  a  change  of  scene,  that  is  all.  Even 
that  is  something,  but  not  enough.  There  are  poor 
people  who  find  existence  a  blessing,  and  rich  people, 
too;  but  I  yawn  my  life  away.  I  have  travelled,  and 
travel  wearied  me  infinitely.  Dinners  or  banquets  in- 
terfere with  my  digestion.  Gambling  rouses  me,  not 
exactly  to  enjoyment,  but  to  something  like  interest,  and 
I  devote  myself  thereto  and  throw  myself  into  it,  simply 
to  forget." 

"  But  thy  father  has  a  large  fortune  which  thou  wilt 
one  day  inherit." 

"To  be  sure;  but  my  father  is  only  fifty." 

Even  Fuent6s  shuddered  at  this  precocious  cynicism. 

"  I  thought  that  thou  wert  ruined  by  yesterday's  vein 
of  ill  luck  ?"  said  Lelli. 

"So  I  was,  most  completely;  and  yet — ' 


THE   GAMBLERS.  293 

He  drew  out  his  purse  and  clinked  it,  ft  wa?  full  -of 
gold. 

"  Thy  father  came  to  thine  aid,  then  ?" 

"Not  he!    he  wants  me  to  go  to  India." 

"  Thou  didst  borrow  ?" 

"Nay;  my  friends  are  spendthrifts  like  myself." 

"Then,"  said  Lelli,  "I  do  not  understand." 

"My  mother  has  diamonds!"  said  Francesco. 

"  She  sold  them  for  thee  ?" 

"  She  is  too  much  under  my  father's  control  to  do 
that!" 

"  Then,  whence  this  gold  ?" 

"  I  thought  thou  hadst  wit  enough  to  guess." 

"  Thou  sayest  that  thy  mother  did  not  sell  her  dia- 
monds ?" 

"  No;  but  I  pledged  them  for  her." 

"  Without  telling  her  ?" 

"  Naturally." 

"  Should  she  discover  ?" 

"I  may  win  to-night." 

"  But  if  thou  dost  not  win  ?" 

"  If  I  lose—" 

He  paused  and  continued:    . 

"  If  I  lose  I  will  do  something  desperate  !" 

"  Seest  thou  ?"  said  Lelli,  laughing;  "  this  Francesco 
becomes  tragic." 

The  door  opened  again,  and  two  other  men  ap- 
peared. Both  were  grave  and  pale,  with  the  traces  of 
many  cares  upon  their  worn  faces.  One  was  an  honest 
man  whom  the  dishonesty  of  a  friend  had  ruined. 
Some  payments  coming  due  on  the  morrow,  and  know- 
ing that  he  would  then  be  dishonored,  he  had  come  to 
seek  at  the  gambling-table  a  last  desperate  resource. 

The  other  was  the  head  of  a  family  reduced  to  utter 


294  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

poverty,  and,  unable  to  provide  for  the  wants  of  his 
numerous  family,  come  to  find  bread  for  his  children  in 
this  cursed  haunt. 

The  men  had  known  each  other  in  happier  days,  and, 
meeting  under  such  melancholy  circumstances,  had  con- 
fided their  desperate  situation  each  to  the  other.  The 
merchant  advised  his  friend  to  stake  his  little  all  upon 
the  chances  of  the  dice. 

The  room  became  gradually  full.  Young  and  old, 
gentlemen  and  citizens,  thronged  the  apio  and  the  salons. 
The  merchant  from  the  Indies  who  was  to  order  pictures 
from  Miguel  promptly  put  in  an  appearance.  The  gold 
clinked  in  his  pockets,  and  he  looked  round  upon  the 
assemblage  with  all  the  assurance  of  wealth.  The  play 
commenced.  Scarcely  had  they  taken  their  places  at 
the  table  when  each  one's  countenance  assumed  a  dif- 
ferent aspect.  A  deep  anguish  appeared  upon  some 
faces.  Their  nostrils  dilated;  their  eyes  grew  fixed; 
their  trembling  lips  moved  only  to  utter  incoherent 
words,  or  appeals  to  the  deity  of  chance,  who  was  to 
show  himself  favorable  or  unfavorable.  The  chess-play- 
ers established  themselves  in  a  little  room  apart,  while 
the  rest  kept  possession  of  the  great  drawing-room. 

The  East  Indian  merchant  and  the  blast  youth  were 
the  two  principal  players  at  dice.  Each  threw  a  purse 
of  gold  upon  the  table,  and  the  dice  were  thrown  with 
marvellous  rapidity.  So  far  neither  won.  The  young 
merchant,  with  flaming  cheeks,  and  an  expression  al- 
most of  fury,  leaned  forward  with  flashing  eyes,  that  he 
might  the  more  quickly  observe  his  adversary's  throw. 
Francesco,  on  the  contrary,  was  deadly  pale;  spite  of 
his  perversity  the  evil  deed  he  had  done  awakened  a 
latent  remorse  in  his  heart.  If  he  had  fallen  so  low  he 
wished  at  least  to  gain  some  return  from  the  passion 


THE   GAMBLERS.  295 

that  had  brought  him  there.  Moreover,  he  was  anxious 
to  redeem  his  mother's  diamonds.  He  played  with  a 
sort  of  desperation,  mingled  with  outbursts  of  rage  or 
impatience.  Though  he  had  boasted  to  Lelli  of  what  he 
had  done,  and  seemed  indifferent  as  to  the  consequences, 
he  felt  that  he  could  not  meet  his  mother's  eyes  if  he 
had  to  go  home  without  redeeming  the  diamonds.  Lelli 
furtively  observed  him.  The  young  merchant,  playing 
with  considerable  eagerness,  had  himself  more  under 
control.  But  chance,  upon  which  Francesco  had  de- 
pended, chance  which  he  had  pursued  for  so  many 
months,  and  never  caught,  far  from  smiling  on  him 
now,  seemed  at  first  to  fly  farther  than  ever.  He  lost 
throw  after  throw  till  but  one  piece  of  gold  remained. 
Not  wishing  to  risk  it  on  a  single  throw  he  changed  it 
for  smaller  coin.  He  won,  doubled  his  winnings,  and 
won  again.  He  was  not  cool  enough  to  play  with  dis- 
cretion; the  demon  of  avarice,  the  fever  of  gain,  drove 
him  to  madness. 

The  young  merchant  lost  his  purse  of  gold,  his  dia- 
mond finger  rings,  and  the  buckle  of  his  cap.  And  as 
the  merchant  lost,  the  youth  saw  money  being  heaped 
up  around  him.  He  now  possessed  such  a  pile  of  gold 
that  it  seemed  as  if  he  could  scarcely  count  it.  His  face 
beamed;  he  spoke  with  great  volubility,  and  challenged 
all  the  unsuccessful  players. 

"  I  offer,"  said  he,  "  to  play  against  each  of  you  in 
turn." 

"  Even  against  me  ?"  said  Lelli. 

"  And  wherefore  not,  Sefior  !" 

"I  bring  bad  luck." 

"Bah!"  said  the  youth,  "that  is  a  superstition  of  thy 
country." 

"Thou  dost  not  believe  it?" 


296  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

"  Not  in  the  least." 

"  Let  us  play,  then,"  said  Lelli. 

"lam  ready,"  replied  Francesco. 

Lelli  threw  first;  he  had  six;  his  adversary  three. 

They  were  playing  for  a  ducat. 

"  I  defy  thee  to  struggle  against  my  luck!"  said  the 
youth,  confident  in  his  late  success. 

"Luck  varies,"  said  Lelli,  shaking  the  dice. 

His  adversary  bent  forward  eagerly. 

"  Five!"  cried  he;  "I  can  surely  beat  that!" 

But  he  threw  four. 

"  Let  us  play  for  four  ducats,"  said  Lelli. 

"Agreed;  and  I  throw  five." 

But  Lelli  won  again.  From  that  time  forth  the  lad  lost 
without  interruption.  He  saw  the  pile  of  money  which 
he  had  so  quickly  won  disappearing  even  more  rapidly. 

The  blood  flew  to  his  head,  his  eyes  grew  red,  his 
hands  trembled  like  those  of  an  old  man.  Once  Lelli 
stopped  and  said  with  a  mixture  of  pity  and  contempt: 
"  Let  us  stop  now;  thou  still  hast  enough  to  redeem  thy 
jewels." 

"No!  no!"  cried  the  other;  "I  must  play,  and  go  on 
playing." 

"As  thou  wilt,"  said  Lelli,  throwing  the  dice. 

"Lost!  I  have  lost  again!"  cried  the  youth,  enraged. 
He  looked  at  what  remained  of  his  gold,  weighed  it  in 
his  hand,  and  said: 

"I  risk  all!" 

"  I  hold  the  play!"  said  Lelli. 

The  young  merchant  leaned  over  Lelli's  shoulder,  the 
better  to  watch  the  play,  and  most  of  those  present  in 
the  house  that  night  formed  a  circle  around  the  two 
gamblers.  Francesco  was  deadly  pale.  Lelli  seemed 
certain  of  victory. 


THE   GAMBLERS.  297 

"Play,"  said  he. 

His  adversary  played. 

"  Six!"  cried  he. 

Lelli  threw  the  same  number.  The  spectators  were 
breathless.  The  youth  took  the  dice-box. 

"  Five!"  said  he,  triumphantly. 

"Six,"  said  Lelli,  calmly. 

The  young  man  pressed  his  hands  to  his  forehead,  and 
a  light  almost  of  insanity  shone  in  his  eyes.  Lelli  did 
not  seem  at  all  vain  of  his  luck,  and  appeared  perfectly 
willing  to  continue  should  any  other  adversary  present 
himself.  He  even  remarked,  courteously  enough: 

"lam  at  the  service  of  any  one  who  would  like  to 
play  against  me." 

"To-morrow,  perchance,"  said  the  merchant;  "not  to- 
night. The  surest  way  to  lose  at  these  games  is  to  be 
too  persistent." 

Lelli  slipped  three  pieces  of  gold  into  FuenteV  hand, 
and  shortly  after  went  out.  He  was  walking  quickly 
homewards  when,  before  he  had  time  to  anticipate  the 
attack,  or  seek  means  of  defence,  he  gave  a  cry,  and  fell 
face  downwards  on  the  ground.  A  dark  figure,  which 
had  followed  him  from  Fuentes'  house,  had  stabbed  him 
between  the  shoulders  with  a  dagger.  By  a  hasty  move- 
ment the  assassin  snatched  the  pouch  which  contained 
the  gambler's  gold,  and  disappeared  down  an  adjoining 
street. 

The  cry  given  by  Lelli  when  falling  was: 

"  Confession  !" 

This  is  the  despairing  cry  usual  in  Spain  or  Spanish 
Flanders  when  a  sword  thrust  or  dagger  stroke  threat- 
ens the  life  of  a  man.  Earth  crumbling  from  beneath 
the  feet  of  him,  thus  slain,  he  calls  upon  his  murderer 
not  to  close  heaven  against  him.  But  this  time  th« 


298  THE   MONK'S  PARDON. 

murderer  had  fled;  and  Lelli  terrified,  lying  helpless  in 
that  deserted  street,  and  rapidly  losing  blood  from  his 
terrible  wound,  raised  himself,  and  repeated  the  cry: 

"  Confession  !  confession  !" 

The  desolate  cry  penetrated  a  room,  still  lighted,  in 
an  adjoining  house,  and  the  window  was  opened.  Here 
might  be  help;  and  Lelli,  whose  eyes  were  already  ob- 
scured by  a  film,  perceived  a  man  leaning  out  of  the 
window  to  see  what  was  going  on  in  the  street  be'  *>w. 


THE  MONK'S   PARDON.  299 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

THE  man  who  had  opened  the  window  in  the  neigh- 
boring house,  now  closed  it  quickly  when  the  wretched 
Lelli  gave  his  second  cry  of  distress.  He  hurried  down 
stairs  and  called  to  a  lackey  who  was  sleeping  in  a  room 
below: 

"  Lights,  Tote,  lights." 

Tote  soon  lit  a  torch,  and  when  the  vestibule  was  thus 
illumined,  the  lackey,  by  his  master's  orders,  opened  the 
street  door,  and  both  rushed  out  to  where,  lying  upon 
the  pavement,  was  the  follower  of  Lo  Spagnoletto. 

The  master  of  the  house  carefully  raised  the  head  of 
the  wounded  man,  while  Tote  took  him  by  the  feet. 

"  Sefior  Miguel,"  said  the  servant,  "what  wouldst  thou 
do  with  this  hapless  man  ?" 

"  Bring  him  into  my  house,"  said  Miguel. 

"What  !  a  vagrant,  perhaps,  a  wretch,  a — " 

"  Wounded  man  who  needs  our  care,"  said  Miguel. 

The  servant  said  no  more,  and  helped  his  master  to 
carry  Lelli  in.  As  they  passed  through  the  vestibule, 
the  light  of  the  torch  fell  full  upon  the  man's  face. 

"  Lello  Lelli  !"  cried  Miguel. 

"  Thou  knowest  him  ?"  asked  the  domestic. 

"Ay,  I  know  him,"  said  Miguel  hoarsely.  "I  know 
him  as  a  being  who  was  the  instrument  of  a  double  crime 
and  a  double  misfortune." 

"  Thou  art  trembling,  master,"  said  Tote,    "  If  the  sight 


300  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

of  this  man  is  so  repulsive  to  thee,  we  can  put  him  back 
where  we  got  him.  Besides,  I  think  he  is  dead." 

A  groan  from  Lelli  proved  that  he  was  still  alive. 

"No,"  said  Miguel,  making  a  violent  effort  to  over- 
come his  repugnance.  "  We  will  do  what  is  necessary 
/or  him.  He  is  still  breathing,  and  it  would  be  wrong 
to  leave  him  lying  on  the  pavement.  Besides,  Heaven 
may  reward  our  charitable  action  by  wringing  the  truth 
from  these  cold  lips.  Let  -us  hasten  to  carry  him  up, 
Tote;  he  is  failing  fast;  and  remember  he  asked  for  a 
priest." 

The  torch  lighted  the  staircase  enough  for  them  to 
make  their  way  up,  and,  besides,  a  lamp  burning  in 
Miguel's  room  threw  out  a  bright  light  from  the  open 
door. 

The  two  men  carried  Lelli  carefully,  and  reaching  the 
ante-chamber,  laid  him  upon  a  divan.  Neither  dared  to 
draw  out  the  dagger  from  the  wound,  until  a  surgeon 
was  brought,  so  that  it  was  necessary  to  place  Lelli  face 
downwards  among  the  cushions.  The  wretch  moaned 
incessantly,  and  seemed  to  be  suffering  terribly. 

"  Get  a  bed  ready  !"  said  Miguel. 

Tote  was  about  to  draw  aside  the  curtains  from  the 
young  artist's  bed,  when  the  latter  seized  his  arm  ab- 
ruptly, and  said: 

"  Not  there  !  not  there  !  but  facing  it." 

A  portable  bed  was  quickly  rolled  over  facing  Miguel's, 
and  upon  this  Lelli  was  laid. 

"  Now,  Tote,  go  for  the  doctor;  wake  him  and  bring 
him  hither.  Meanwhile,  I  will  prepare  all  that  is  neces- 
sary. As  soon  as  thou  hast  sent  a  physician,  go  and 
bring  a  monk  to  hear  this  man's  confession." 

"  I  will  go,  Sefior  Miguel,  I  will  go,"  said  Tote. 

The  young   painter   approached    the   couch  whereon 


THE   MONK'S  PARDON.  3<DI 

Lelli  lay,  and  stood  looking  down  upon  him  with  singu- 
lar intensity. 

"Providence,"  he  murmured,  "how  strange  are  thy 
decrees.  It  was  ordained  that  this  man  should  be 
stricken  in  front  of  this  house,  should  be  borne  over  this 
threshold,  whence  he  was  dismissed,  and  which  he 
crossed  again  to  do  his  work  of  death.  O  my  God, 
grant  him  repentance  for  the  evil  he  has  done,  and  let 
the  truth  escape  from  his  lips  !" 

Miguel  then  began  to  busy  himself  in  preparing  all 
that  the  physician  might  require  in  dressing  the  wound, 
and  this  done,  impatiently  awaited  his  arrival. 

He  had  not  long  to  wait,  and  heard  the  step  upon  the 
stairs  almost  as  soon  as  he  had  completed  his  prepara- 
tions. The  artist  brought  him  at  once  to  the  bedside. 

"Where  was  he  found  ?"  asked  the  doctor. 

"  In  the  street ." 

"  Dost  know  him  ?" 

"Yes  !"  said  Miguel  in  a  suppressed  voice. 

"  Thou  didst  well,  my  dear  boy,  to  leave  the  dagger  in 
the  wound.  A  hemorrhage  seems  inevitable,  but  I  may 
avert  it." 

The  doctor  then  knelt  upon  the  bed,  and  with  a  hasty 
movement  drew  the  steel  from  the  wound.  Lelli  uttered 
a  piercing  shriek. 

"A  terrible  incision,"  said  the  physician,  "a  difficult 
wound  to  heal.  If,  however,  the  blade  be  not  poisoned, 
there  may  be  hope.  We  must  undress  him.  It  would 
be  impossible  to  take  his  clothing  off,  so  we  must  cut 
it  " 

Lelli's  doublet' -being  cut  off  him,  and  his  shoulders 
bared,  the  doctor  found  it  easier  to  stanch  the  wound. 
He  had  to  bring  the  bandages  across  Lelli's  chest  to  keep 


3O2  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

them  firm.  When  all  was  done,  Miguel  gave  Lelli  some 
Madeira  wine,  which  revived  him. 

"  Lie  neither  upon  thy  back  nor  chest,"  said  the  doc- 
tor; "  keep  always  upon  thy  side,  and  avoid  any  sudden 
movement  which  may  bring  on  hemorrhage." 

"I  am  lost !"  said  Lelli. 

"There  is  but  little  hope  !"  replied  the  physician. 

Lelli's  teeth  chattered  in  affright. 

"There  is  nothing  to  be  done  until  to-morrow,  my 
friend,"  continued  the  physician,  addressing  Miguel. 

"  If  any  unexpected  change  should  take  place — " 

"Thou  wilt  send  for  me." 

The  doctor  pressed  Miguel's  hand,  saying  : 

"  I  have  had  proof  of  thy  goodness  of  heart  before  now." 

The  doctor  then  went  out,  and  Miguel  was  left  alone 
with  Lelli.  In  order  to  keep  the  light  from  the  patient's 
eyes,  Miguel  had  turned  the  lamp  very  low. 

The  light  in  the  room  was  consequently  dim.  During 
the  dressing  of  the  wound,  Miguel  had  kept  as  much  as 
possible  out  of  sight,  lest  Lelli  should  recognize  him. 
Hence,  the  wretch  had  no  suspicion  that  he  owed  this 
generous  care  to  the  man  with  whom  he  had  a  few  years 
before  fought  a  duel.  As  is  usual  with  people  who  are 
suffering,  Lelli  kept  his  eyes  closed  most  of  the  time.  It 
would  seem  that  when  exterior  objects  no  longer  strike 
upon  our  view,  we  enter  more  into  ourselves.  Thus, 
Lelli  thought  of  that  terrible  hour  when  the  unfathom- 
able mysteries  of  an  eternity  of  justice  should  be  un- 
veiled to  him. 

He  remembered  himself  at  Rome  as  a  child,  noisy, 
violent,  harsh  with  his  mother,  playing  with  children  of 
his  own  age,  whose  greatest  delight  was  to  torment  some 
unoffending  creature,  or  insult  some  old  man.  He  re- 
called— oh,  how  the  memory  came  back  to  him — his  good 


THE    MONK  S   PARDON.  303 

but  weakly  indulgent  mother,  who  reproved  him  gently 
for  a  fault,  when  she  should  have  taken  a  rod  to  chas- 
tise him.  Alas  !  she  dearly  expiated  a  fault  which  arose 
from  her  very  goodness  of  heart.  One  day,  in  seeking 
to  force  money  from  the  poor  woman,  whom  Lelli  had 
gradually  reduced  to  indigence,  he  raised  his  hand  as  if 
to  strike  her.  She  would  not  yield,  and  the  blow  fell. 
She  did  not  cry  out,  nor  call  for  help;  she  did  not  even 
curse  him;  but  Lelli  fled,  and  she  never  saw  him  again. 

At  the  age  of  twenty,  he  arrived  in  Naples,  where  he 
frequented  the  lowest  haunts,  and  attached  himself  to 
the  service  of  Ribera  with  a  facility  which  showed  a 
natural  perversity.  God  alone  knew  the  truth  as  to  the 
bloody  tragedy  of  which  Domenichino*  was  the  victim. 

As  certain  animals  are  irritated  by  the  sight  of  blood, 
or  by  anything  of  a  red  color,  so  Lelli  was  readily  dis- 
posed to  murder  and  crime  of  all  sorts.  Everything 
seemed  good  to  him  from  which  he  could  derive  any  profit. 
He  had  a  special  tariff  for  his  misdeeds,  so  much  for  kill- 
ing an  adversary  in  a  duel,  so  much  for  ridding  a  man 
of  some  deadly  enemy,  so  much  for  ruining  a  reputation. 
When  he  had  used  the  sword  and  dagger  to  some  pur- 
pose in  one  town,  he  went  to  another  to  continue  his 
course  of  evil.  When  this  phase  of  his  life  came  before 
his  mind,  Lelli,  seized  with  an  awful  horror  of  himself, 
uttered  a  cry  of  agony.  Miguel  approached  the  bed. 
Lelli's  eyes  were  closed:  he  was,  as  it  were,  looking  into 
himself.  His  memory  had  transported  him  to  Madrid, 
where  he  was  a  stranger,  and  which  was  a  new  theatre 
of  crime  for  the  gambler  and  the  bully. 

*  Domenichino  died  before  reaching  Rome  after  his  sojourn  in 
Naples,  and  a  strong  suspicion  prevailed  that  he  had  been  poisoned 
by  a  faction  at  the  head  of  which  was  Ribera. 


304  THE   MONK'S   PARDON. 

He  remembered  Alonso  Cano's  benevolent  welcome, 
his  easy  life  in  the  studio,  amongst  the  other  young  men. 
This  time  he  had  had  a  chance  of  repentance,  an  oppor- 
tunity to  redeem  himself.  Virtue  and  happiness  seemed 
the  atmosphere  of  the  house.  For  a  time  his  soul  had 
been  impregnated  with  it,  but  evil  had  so  gangrened  his 
heart,  that  a  cure  was  impossible.  Hatred  soon  killed 
the  germs  of  good  that  were  'unfolding  in  Lelli's  mind. 
All  at  once,  he  fancied  himself  in  Cano's  studio  crossing 
swords  with  Miguel — Miguel,  for  whose  sake  he  had  been 
dismissed.  And  his  old  vindictiveness  surviving  his 
bodily  strength,  he  murmured: 

"  Miguel,  I  will  be  revenged  !" 

Miguel  heard  the  words,  and  still  keeping  in  the  sha- 
dow, said  slowly: 

"  For  what  wilt  thou  be  revenged?" 

The  sound  of  his  voice,  which  Lelli  at  once  recognized, 
agitated  him  deeply.  Yet  he  thought  it  was  a  fancy,  and 
after  a  feeble  attempt  to  turn  in  the  direction  of  the 
voice,  murmured: 

"I  find  him  everywhere — him  and  her!" 

Then  memory,  which  was  now  accompanied  with  poig- 
nant remorse,  showed  him  Mercedes,  so  merry  and  so 
childish,  and  who  had  never  either  wounded  or  humili- 
ated him.  First  he  saw  her  in  her  robe  of  rich  brocade, 
embroidered  in  gold,  then — 

Then  he  rose  upon  his  elbow,  and  gazing  out  before 
him,  saw  a  vision  truly  terrible.  The  curtains  which 
enveloped  the  great  bed,  just  in  front  of  him,  were  drawn 
aside,  and  he  recognized,  by  the  pale  light  of  the  lamp, 
Mercedes,  her  face  distorted  with  horror,  her  neck  and 
breast  showing  deep  wounds,  her  hands  covered  with 
blood.  Thus  had  he  seen  her  one  terrible  night,  a  niglit 
Which  he  could  never  forget.  Had  she  come  back  in  his 


THE   MONK'S   PARDON.  305 

dying  hoar,  to  terrify  him  with  a  vision  of  his  crime  ? 
Where  was  he?  With  a  fearful  effort,  he  raised  himself 
to  a  sitting  posture,  looked  round  him  wildly,  in  the  be- 
wilderment of  an  unspeakable  terror. 

He  recognized  the  room  now.  Every  detail  of  it  was 
familiar,  and  the  bed  facing  him,  the  bed  in  which  he 
had  beheld  a  murdered  woman,  was  one  not  easily  for- 
gotten. 

The  name  of  Mercedes  rose  to  his  lips. 

"Help!"  he  cried,  "help!" 

Miguel  advanced,  but  this  time  confronting-  Lellj. 

"  What  wouldst  thou,  Lello  Lelli  ?"  he  asked. 

Lelli  recognized  him  immediately. 

"  What  revenge  art  thou  going  to  take  ?"  *ald  he  at 
once,  recovering  his  composure. 

"  I  have  taken  it  already,"  said  Miguel. 

"Yet  thou  didst  not  murder  me,"  said  Lelli;  "it'AA* 
Francesco,  to  punish  me  for  having  won  his  money  at 
dice." 

"  Knowest  thou  no  other  vengeance  than  the  spilling 
of  blood  ?"  asked  Miguel. 

"  No  !"  said  Lelli  fiercely. 

"  I  know  of  a  better  one,"  said  Miguel. 

"  What  is  that  ?" 

"To  return  good  for  evil." 

"  That  is  why  thou  didst  pick  me  up,  and  bring  m<> 
here  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Where  am  I  ?" 

"  In  my  house." 

"  Yet  it  is  the  same  !" 

"  It  was  Alonso  Cano's  !" 

"Take  me  away  from  here  !"  said  Lelli  with  feverish 


306  THE  MONK'S  PARDON. 

violence.  "  Take  me  away  !  Since  thou  canst  pardon 
render  me  that  last  service." 

"  I  know  wherefore  thou  wouldst  go,"  said  Miguel. 

"No,"  said  Lelli;  "thou  dost  not,  thou  canst  not 
know." 

"  Must  I  then  tell  thee  ?" 

"  But  thou  canst  not." 

"  Thou  seest  her  here,"  said  Miguel.  "  Thou  seest  her 
as  upon  the  night  when  thou  didst  leave  her  for  dead, 
taking  with  thee  her  diamonds." 

"  Take  me  away  !"  cried  Lelli.  "  These  are  but  hideous 
fancies;  this  is  but  a  spectre  that  pursues  me.  When  I 
leave  this  house  the  bloody  phantom  will  vanish." 

"  Didst  thou  not  ask  for  a  priest  ?" 

"  I  shall  be  dead  when  he  comes,  and  damned  before 
le  can  hear  my  confession." 

Just  then  steps  were  heard  upon  the  stairs,  and  Miguei 
opened  the  door.  Upon  the  threshold  was  a  monk  in  his 
habit  of  serge.  The  cowl  concealed  his  face,  and  his 
hands  were  folded  in  his  sleeves. 

"Thou  didst  send  for  a  priest,"  he  said;  "I  am  here." 

The  tones  of  the  voice  went  to  Miguel's  heart.  He 
would  fain  have  caught  sight  of  the  face,  but  the  monk 
held  down  his  head  so  that  recognition  was  impossible. 
Miguel  pointed  to  the  bed,  upon  which  lay  the  wounded 
man,  whose  gaze  was  still  fixed  upon  the  phantom  with- 
in the  curtains.  Miguel  drew  them  together,  and  when 
Lelli  glanced  in  that  direction  again  they  fell  in  regular, 
heavy  folds.  A  sigh  of  relief  escaped  him. 

The  monk,  regarding  him  a  moment  with  a  tranquillity 
which,  perhaps,  concealed  some  violent  emotion,  said  in 
a  voice  softened  by  the  divine  unction  of  charity: 

"  I  am  ready  to  hear  thee,  my  brother." 

Then  a  strange  revulsion  took  place  in  Lelli's  soul 


THE   MONK'S   PARDON.  307 

He  had  cried  out  "  Confession  !"  in  falling  upon  the  pave- 
ment, and  the  confession  which  he  had  to  make,  all  at 
once  caused  him  such  a  feeling  of  horror  that  he  stretched 
out  his  arms  as  if  to  repulse  the  monk.  A  man,  on  the 
point  of  undergoing  a  dangerous  operation,  shrinks  thus 
from  it,  through  fear  of  the  pain  which  is  to  bring  about 
his  salvation. 

"  My  brother,"  said  the  monk,  "  God  will  soon  call 
thee  before  His  tribunal.  Thou  wilt  have  to  render  an 
account  to  Him  of  evil  desires,  and  criminal  acts  to  which 
these  desires  have  led;  of  the  good  thou  hast  omitted  to 
do,  and  the  evil  thou  hast  done  !" 

Lelli  sighed  deeply. 

"  Thou  hast  had,"  said  the  monk,  "  courage  to  commit 
many  sins — it  may  be  crimes — and  thou  hast  not  resolu- 
tion to  avow  them.  Yet  who  am  I  ?  The  unworthy 
servant  of  Him  whom  thou  mayest  indeed  fear,  unless 
thou  takest  care  to  appease  His  justice." 

Lelli  was  still  silent. 

"  Thou  dost  not  know  the  man  who  is  hidden  by  this 
cowl  and  robe  of  serge,  and  did  he  know  thee,  the  secrets 
thou  mayest  confide  to  him  are  guaranteed  by  his  own 
salvation.  What  canst  thou  then  fear  ?  Art  thou  ashamed 
of  him  ?  Yet  each  day  he  humbles  himself  before  his 
God.  Art  thou  unwilling  to  submit  to  the  justice  of 
God  ?  In  an  hour  hence  He  will  demand  of  thee  an  in- 
exorable account  of  every  word  and  thought.  Speak  as 
though  thou  wert  alone,  and  striking  thy  breast  before 
the  Lord,  ask  Him  to  apply  the  merits  of  His  passion 
to  thy  soul,  and  to  pardon  thee." 

"  Pardon  !"  cried  Lelli.  "  Dost  thou  believe  that  God 
will  pardon  all  crimes  ?" 

"  All !"  said  the  monk  gravely. 

"  But  if  the  criminal,  blinded  by  cupidity  and  the  thirst 


3O8  THE   MONK'S  PARDON. 

for  gold,  had  robbed  a  friend  of  all  that  he  possessed, 
and  having  robbed  him,  found  himself  at  the  hour  ol 
death  totally  unable  to  make  restitution  ?" 

"The  Lord  will  be  content  with  the  sincerity  of  his 
repentance." 

"And  the  man  whom  he  has  robbed?" 

"  The  servant  is  not  greater  than  the  master,"  said  the 
monk. 

"  So  much  for  material  goods,"  said  the  penitent,  with 
an  effort;  "but  if  there  was  question  of  a  life,  that  most 
precious  of  all  possessions,  and  which  man  is  unable  to 
restore,  once  he  has  taken  it  ?" 

"Those  who  are  with  God,  pardon  after  His  example," 
said  the  monk. 

"  But  suppose,"  continued  Lelli,  "  that  a  man  had 
stricken  a  feeble,  defenceless  creature — a  woman — which 
is  a  double  crime;  that,  this  murder  committed,  he  fled, 
letting  suspicion  fall  upon  an  innocent  man;  that  this  in- 
nocent man  was  proscribed,  condemned,  put  to  the  tor- 
ture, from  which  he  escaped  alive  almost  by  a  miracle. 
Dost  believe  that  there  can  be  pardon  for  crimes  like 
this  ?" 

"  I  believe  so,  firmly,"  said  the  monk. 

"  What  ?  Can  the  blood  of  the  Saviour  wash  a  soul  so 
deeply  stained  ?" 

"  It  would  suffice  to  wash  away  the  sins  and  the  crimes 
of  generations  past  and  future  !" 

"  Hear  me,"  said  Lelli.  "  A  moment  since  I  suffered  from 
a  terrible  hallucination;  the  form  of  my  victim  arose  be- 
fore me.  In  the  shadows  of  this  room  the  bloody  figure 
of  Mercedes  appeared  to  me." 

"Mercedes  !"  repeated  the  monk,  in  a  voice  faint  as  an 
echo. 

Lelli  continued  in  an  abrupt  way. 


THE   MONK'S   PARDON.  309 

"If  thou  couldst  but  know  how  I  hated  Alonso  Cano! 
Wherefore,  when  he  had  loaded  me  with  benefits  ?  It 
was  because  I  was  at  once  jealous  and  ungrateful.  I 
hated  him  as  the  serpent  might  hate  the  generous  lion. 
His  reputation,  his  glory,  his  wealth  seemed  to  me  so 
many  thefts  committed  to  my  prejudice.  I  detested  not 
only  Alonso  Cano,  but  all  who  were  connected  with  him 
in  any  way — his  wife,  who  seemed  to  have  an  instinctive 
terror  of  me  ;  his  pupils,  who  left  my  poor  talent  as  a 
copyist  so  far  behind.  When  Alonso  Cano  drove  me 
away,  I  wished  to  leave  him  shame  and  sorrow  as  my 
legacy.  Having  ostensibly  left  the  house,  I  returned  at 
night  by  means  of  a  key  which  I  had  kept.  The  master 
was  absent;  his  wife,  for  some  childish  reason,  in  tears. 
There  was  some  talk  of  a  ball,  and  of  a  hasty  departure 
I  had  often  enough  seen  Mercedes*  diamonds  to  appre- 
ciate  their  full  value.  I  resolved  not  to  leave  Spain  till  I 
took  them  with  me.  Having  reached  the  little  room 
which  I  had  formerly  occupied,  and  in  which  no  one  now 
knew  of  my  presence,  I  waited  till  the  house  was  per- 
fectly still.  Then  I  came  out  and  stole  into  Mercedes' 
room.  She  seemed  to  be  asleep.  I  snatched  up  the 
jewels,  which  lay  upon  the  table,  and  was  about  to  fly 
with  my  spoils,  when  Mercedes  suddenly  awoke,  recog- 
nized me,  and  screamed  aloud.  I  feared  she  might  be 
overheard,  and  rushed  over,  bidding  her  be  silent.  She 
threatened  to  rouse  the  house.  I  took  my  dagger !" 

The  monk  stifled  a  sob,  and  Lelli,  absorbed  in  the 
memory  of  that  terrible  scene,  went  on: 

"  I  struck  her  blindly,  recklessly,  madly,  till  my  hands 
were  red  with  her  blood,  till  I  felt  that  the  body  was 
lifeless  beneath  my  stiletto,  and  the  breath  gone  from  the 
lips  which  I  violently  compressed." 

A  foam  gathered  upon  the  wretch's  lips  as  he  spoke. 


310  THE   MONK'S   PARDON. 

"I  killed  Mercedes  !     I  killed  Mercedes  !"  he  cried. 

After  a  moment's  pause  he  asked: 

"  Is  there  pardon  for  me  ?" 

"If  thou  dost  repent." 

"Oh,  that  is  not  all !"  said  Lelli:  "  I  threw  the  terrible 
suspicion  of  this  crime  upon  another,  upon  the  husband 
of  Mercedes  !" 

"What  next?"  said  the  monk,  calmly. 

"  When,  by  some  imprudence,  he  fell  into  the  hands  of 
the  law,"  said  Lelli,  "  he  was.put  to  the  torture  and  suf- 
fered excruciating  agony." 

"That  was  his  martyrdom  !"  said  the  monk. 

"  Ah  !"  cried  Lelli,  "  that  crime  was  even  more  horrible 
than  the  first.  After  having  stricken  my  benefactor  in 
his  affections,  I  attacked  him  in  his  honor,  his  unsullied 
reputation,  and  even  in  his  person,  which  I  would  have 
killed.  Can  God  pardon  that  ?" 

"He  only  wishes  to  pardon  thee,"  said  the  monk. 

"  I  will  then  finish  my  confession,"  said  Lelli. 

He  told  of  his  youth,  up  to  the  time  of  his  arrival  in 
Madrid;  of  what  he  had  done  during  his  first  journey  to 
Naples,  and  the  events  which  had  followed  his  return  to 
Spain.  He  spoke  of  the  evening  at  Fuent6s'  house,  and 
the  revenge  of  Francesco,  whom  he  had  robbed  by  cheat- 
ing at  play. 

"  Dost  thou  repent  of  these  sins  ?"  said  the  monk. 

"I  know  not  whether  I  repent,"  said  Lelli,  "but  I  be- 
lieve and  I  am  afraid." 

"Of  eternal  punishments?"  asked  the  monk. 

"Yes!"  said  Lelli. 

"  Brother,"  said  the  monk,  "  through  the  merits  of  thy 
Saviour,  Jesus,  this  fear  must  lead  thee  to  repentance. 
When  the  absolution  of  the  priest  falls  upon  thee,  thy 
»oul  will  be  purified.  But  that  thou  mayest  offer  more 


THE   MONK'S   PARDON.  311 

to  thy  Lord  than  a  sentiment  so  feeble  and  imperfect,  try 
to  find  another  motive  for  thy  sorrow.  Remember  the 
mercy  of  the  divine  Saviour  of  men,  and  the  miracles  of 
His  bounty,  so  that  thou  mayest  come  to  repent  of  thy 
sins,  not  only  because  divine  justice  reserves  for  them  a 
punishment  proportioned  to  their  magnitude,  but  because 
in  sullying  thus  thy  soul,  thou  hast  tarnished  a  pure 
mirror  which  contained  the  reflection  of  God,  profaned 
the  treasures  of  His  grace,  and  trampled  His  sacred  re- 
demption under  foot.  Forget  everything  at  this  supreme 
moment  but  the  crucifix  which  I  hold  to  thy  lips.  Re- 
pent of  thy  sins  for  the  love  of  Jesus  Christ;  not  only 
will  they  be  remitted,  but  thou  mayest  hope  for  the 
eternal  felicity  granted  to  repentant  sinners,  as  well  as 
to  the  just." 

So  saying,  the  monk  drew  a  crucifix  from  his  girdle 
and  held  it  to  Lelli's  lips. 

"  Father  !  father  !"  murmured  the  wretch,  "  I  believe 
that  God  will  pardon  me,  but  oh  that  the  man  whom  I 
have  injured,  and  delivered  up  to  torture,  were  here  to 
forgive  me.  Bring  him,  I  implore  thee.  I  would  arise 
from  my  dying  bed  to  cast  myself  at  his  feet.  I  would 
cry  out,  '  Mercy!  mercy!'  " 

"  Strike  thy  breast,  thou  who  hast  sinned,"  said  the 
monk,  with  superhuman  authority.  Lelli  obeyed,  shud- 
dering. 

In  a  voice  of  thrilling  power,  the  monk  then  raised  his 
hand. 

"  Absolvo  fe,"  he  began,  "  I  absolve  thee." 

Whilst  his  right  hand  made  the  sacred  sign,  his  left 
unfastened  the  hood  of  his  capuchin,  and  showed  to  the 
astonished  eyes  of  Lello  Lelli  the  transfigured  face  of 
Alonso  Cano. 


312  THE   MONK'S   PARDON. 

"  Thou  !"  cried  Lelli,  "  thou  !  and  hast  thou  the  power 
to  absolve  ?" 

"I  am  a  priest !"  said  Cano,  "with  the  power  to  absolve 
thee  !  I  pardon  thee  from  my  heart,  and  I  thank  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ  that  He  hath  made  me  the  instrument 
of  His  mercy." 

"  Pardon  !  oh,  pardon  !"  murmured  Lelli;  "  I  am  dying." 

Miguel  rushed  forward  and  seized  him  in  his  arms, 
while  Alonso  Cano  fell  upon  his  knees.  All  night  long 
the  two  men  kept  watch  beside  the  mortal  remains  of 
Mercedes'  murderer.  After  having  attended  to  the 
burial,  Alonso  returned  to  Granada,  where  obedience 
called  him;  but  by  a  special  privilege  granted  to  his  in- 
comparable genius,  he  inhabited  till  his  death  a  studio 
which  was  fitted  up  for  him  in  the  Great  Tower. 

The  Michael  Angelo  of  Spain  was  buried  in  1676, 
under1  the  chancel  of  the  cathedral  of  Granada. 


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Father  M.  v.  COCHEM.     Cloth,  o  75 

GARLAND    OF    PRAYER.     With  Nuptial  Mass.     Leather.  o  90 

GENERAL    CONFESSION    MADE    EASY.     Rev.   A.   KONINGS,   C.SS.R. 

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GENERAL   PRINCIPLES   OF  THE   RELIGIOUS   LIFE.     VERHBYRN,  O.S.B. 

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GREETINGS  TO  THE  CHRIST-CHILD,  a  Collection  of  Poems  for  the  Young. 
Illustrated.  .    o  60 
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HELPS  TO  A  SPIRITUAL  LIFE.     From  the  German  of  Rev.  Jos.  SCHNEIDER, 

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HIDDEN      TREASURE:    The  Value  and   Excellence  of  the  Holy  Mass.     By 

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JUVENILES. 

ADVENTURES  OF  A  CASKET.  o  45 

ADVENTURES  OF  A  FRENCH  CAPTAIN.  o  45 

AN  ADVENTURE  WITH  THE  APACHES.     By  GABRIEL  FERRY.  o  45 

ANTHONY.     A  Tale  of  the  Time  of  Charles  II.  of  England.  o  45 

ARMORER  OF  SOLINGEN.     By  WILLIAM  HERCHENBACH.  o  40 

AS  TRUE  AS  GOLD.     MANNIX.  o  45 

BERKLEYS,  THE.     WIGHT.  o  45 

BERTHA;  or,  Consequences  of  a  Fault.  o  45 

BEST  FOOT  FORWARD.     By  Father  FINN.  o  85 

BETTER  PART.  o  45 

BISTOURI.     By  A.  MELANDRI.  o  45 

BLACK  LADY  AND  ROBIN  RED  BREAST.     By  CANON  SCHMID.  o  25 

BLANCHE  DE  MARSILLY.  o  4S 

BLISSYLVANIA  POST-OFFICE.     By  MARION  AMES  TAGGART.  o  45 

BOB  O'LINK.     WAGGAMAN.  o  45 

BOYS  IN  THE  BLOCK.     By  MAURICE  F.  EGAN.  o  25 

BRIC-A-BRAC  DEALER.  o  45 

BUNT  AND  BILL.     CLARA  MULHOLLAND.  o  45 

BUZZER'S  CHRISTMAS.     By  MARY  T.  WAGGAMAN.  o  25 

BY  BRANSCOME  RIVER.     By  MARION  AMES  TAGGART.  o  45 

CAKE  AND  THE  EASTER  EGGS.     By  CANON  SCHMID.  o  25 

CANARY  BIRD.     By  CANON  SCHMID.  o  40 

CAPTAIN  ROUGEMONT.  o  45 

CARROLL  DARE.     By  MARY  T.  WAGGAMAN.  i  25 

CASSILDA;  or,  the  Moorish  Princess.  o  45 

CATHOLIC  HOME  LIBRARY.     10  vols.,each,  o  45 
CLAUDE  LIGHTFOOT;  or,  How  the  Problem  was  solved.     By  Father  FINN,  o  85 

COLLEGE  BOY,  A.     By  ANTHONY  YORKB.     Cloth,  o  85 

CONVERSATION  ON  HOME  EDUCATION.  o  45 
COPUS,  REV.,  I.E.,  S.J.: 

HARRY  RUSSELL.  o  85 
SHADOWS  LIFTED.  o  8S 
ST.  CUTHBERTS.  o  85 
DIMPLING'S  SUCCESS.     By  CLARA  MULHOLLAND.  o  45 
EPISODES  OF  THE  PARIS  COMMUNE.     An  Account  of  the  Religious  Perse- 
cution. °  45 
ETHELRED  PRESTON,  or  the  Adventures  of  a  Newcomer.     By  Father  FINN. 

o  8s 

EVERY-DAY  GIRL,  AN.     By  MARY  C.  CROWLEY.  o  45 

FATAL  DIAMONDS.    By  E.  C.  DONNELLY.  o  as 

8 


FINN.  REV.  F.  J.    S.J.: 

HIS.  FIRST  AND  LAST  APPEARANCE.     Illustrated.  i  oo 

THE  BEST  FOOT  FORWARD.  o  &s 

THAT  FOOTBALL  GAME.  o  8s 

ETHELRED  PRESTON.  o  85 

CLAUDE  LIGHTFOOT.  o  85 

HARRY  DEE.  o  85 

TOM  PLAYFAIR.  o  85 

PERCY  WYNN.  o  8s 

MOSTLY  BOYS.  o  85 

FISHERMAN'S  DAUGHTER.  o  45 

FIVE  O'CLOCK  STORIES;  or.  The  Old  Tales  Told  Again.  o  75 

FLOWER  OF  THE  FLOCK,  THE,  and  the  Badgers  of  Belmont.     By  MAURICE 

F.  EGAN.  o  85 

FRED'S  LITTLE  DAUGHTER.     By  SARA  TRAINER  SMITH.  o  45 

GERTRUDE'S  EXPERIENCE.  o  45 

GODFREY  THE  HERMIT.     By  CANON  SCHMID.  o  25 

GOLDEN  LILY.  THE.     HINKSON.  o  45 

GREAT  CAPTAIN,  THE.     By  KATHARINE  T.  HINKSON.  o  45 

GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S  SECRET.  o  45 

HALDEMAN  CHILDREN,  THE.     By  MARY  E.  MANNIX.  o  45 

HARRY  DEE;  or,  Working  it  Out.     By  Father  FINN.  o  85 

HEIR  OF  DREAMS,  AN.     By  SALLIE  MARGARET  O'MALLEY.  o  45 

HER  FATHER'S  RIGHT  HAND.  o  45 

HIS  FIRST  AND  LAST  APPEARANCE.     By  Father  FINN.  i  oo 

HOP  BLOSSOMS.     By  Canon  SCHMID.  o  25 

HOSTAGE  OF  WAR,  A.     By  MARY  G.  BONESTEEL.  o  45 

HOW  THEY  WORKED  THEIR  WAY.     By  MAURICE  F.  EGAN.  o  75 

INUNDATION,  THE.     Canon  SCHMID.  o  40 

JACK  HILDREDTH  AMONG  THE  INDIANS.     2  vols.,  each,  o  8s 

JACK   HILDREDTH   ON   THE   NILE.     By  MARION  AMES  TAGGART.     Cloth, 

o  85 

JACK  O' LANTERN.     By  MARY  T.  WAGGAMAN.  o  45 
JUVENILE  ROUND  TABLE.     First  Series.     Stories  by  the  Best  Writers,    i  oo 

JUVENILE  ROUND  TABLE.     Second  Series.  i  oo 

KLONDIKE  PICNIC.     By  ELEANOR  C.  DONNELLY.  o  85 

LAMP  OF  THE  SANCTUARY.     By  Cardinal  WISEMAN.  o  25 
LEGENDS  OF  THE  HOLY  CHILD  JESUS  from  Many  Lands.     By  A.  FOWLER 

LUTZ.  o  75 

LITTLE  MISSY.     By  MARY  T.  WAGGAMAN.  o  45 

LOYAL  BLUE  AND  ROYAL  SCARLET.     By  MARION  A.  TAGGART.  o  85 

MADCAP  SET  AT  ST.  ANNE'S.     By  MARION  J.  BRUNOWB.  o  45 

MARCELLE.     A  True  Story.  o  45 

MARY  TRACY'S  FORTUNE.     SADLIER.  o  45 

MASTER  FRIDOLIN.     By  EMMY  GIBHRL.  o  25 

MILLY  AVELING.     By  SARA  TRAINER  SMITH.     Cloth,  o  85 

MOSTLY  BOYS.     By  Father  FINN.  o  8s 

MYSTERIOUS  DOORWAY.     By  ANNA  T.  SADLIER.  o  45 

MY  STRANGE  FRIEND.     By  Father  FINN.  o  25 

NAN  NOBODY.     By  MARY  T.  WAGGAMAN.  o  45 

OLD  CHARLMONT'S  SEED-BED.     By  SARA  TRAINER  SMITH.  o  45 

OLD  ROBBER'S  CASTLE.     By  Canon  SCHMID.  o  25 

OLIVE  AND  THE  LITTLE  CAKES.  o  45 

OUR  BOYS'  AND  GIRLS'  LIBRARY.     14  vols.,  each,  o  25 

OUR  YOUNG  FOLKS'  LIBRARY.     10  vols.,  each  o  45 

OVERSEER  OF  MAHLBOURG.     By  Canon  SCHMID.  o  as 

9 


PANCHO  AND  PANCHITA.     By  MARY  E.  MANNIX.  o  40 

PAULINE  ARCHER.     By  ANNA  T.  SADLIBR.  o  45 

PERCY  WYNN;  or,  Making  a  Boy  of  Him.     By  Father  FINN  o  85 

PICKLE  AND  PEPPER.     By  ELLA  LORAINB  DORSBY.  o  85 

PLAYWATER  PLOT,  THE.     By  MARY  T.  WAGGAMAN.  o  60 

PRIEST  OF  AUVRIGNY.  o  45 

QUEEN'S  PAGE.     By  KATHARINE  TYNAN  HINKSON.  o  45 

RECRUIT  TOMMY  COLLINS.     BONBSTBBL.  o  45 

RICHARD;  or,  Devotion  to  the  Stuarts.  o  45 

ROSE  BUSH.     By  Canon  SCHMID.  o  35 

SEA-GULLS'  ROCK.     By  J.  SANDEAU.  o  45 
SPALDING,    S.J.: 

CAVE    BY    THE    BEECH   FORK.  o  85 

THE  SHERIFF  OF  THE  BEECH  FORK.  o  8s 

THE  RACE  FOR  COPPER  ISLAND.  o  85 

STRONG-ARM  OF  AVALON.     By  MARY  T.  WAGGAMAN.  o  85 

SUMMER  AT  WOODVILLE.     By  ANNA  T.  SADLIBR.  o  45 

TALES  AND  LEGENDS  OF  THE  MIDDLE  AGES.     F.  DE  CAPBLLA.  o  75 

TALES  AND  LEGENDS  SERIES.     3  vols.,  each,  o  75 

TALISMAN,  THE.     By  ANNA  T.  SADLIER.  o  60 

TAMING  OF  POLLY.     By  ELLA  LORAINB  DORSEY.  o  8s 

THAT  FOOTBALL  GAME;  and  What  Came  of  It.     By  Father  FINN.  o  85 

THREE  GIRLS  AND  ESPECIALLY  ONE.     By  MARION  A.  TAGGART.  o  45 

THREE  LITTLE  KINGS.     By  EMMY  GIEHRL.  o  25 

TOM  PLAYFAIR;  or,  Making  a  Start.     By  Father  FINN.  o  85 

TOM'S  LUCKPOT.     By  MARY  T.  WAGGAMAN.  o  4S 

TREASURE  OF  NUGGET  MOUNTAIN.     By  M.  A.  TAGGART.  0  8s 

TWO  LITTLE  GIRLS.     By  LILIAN  MACK.  o  45 

VILLAGE  STEEPLE,  THE.  o  45 
WAGER  OF  GERALD  O'ROURKE,  THE.     FINN-THIBLB.                     net,  o  35 

WINNETOU,  THE  APACHE  KNIGHT.     By  MARION  AMES  TAGGART.  o  85 

WRONGFULLY  ACCUSED.     By  WILLIAM  HBRCHBNBACH.  o  40 

YOUNG  COLOR  GUARD,  THE.     By  MARY  G.  BONBSTBBL.  o  45 

NOVELS  AND   STORIES. 

"  BUT  THY  LOVE  AND  THY  GRACE."     Rev.  F.  J.  FINN.  S.J.  i  oo 

CIRCUS  RIDER'S  DAUGHTER,  THE.     A  Novel.     By  F.  v.  BRACKKL.  i   25 
CONNOR  D'ARCY-S  STRUGGLES.     A  Novel.     By  Mrs.  W.  M.  BBRTHOLDS. 

i   as 

CORINNE'S  VOW.    WAGGAMAN.  i  25 

DION  AND  THE  SIBYLS.     A  Classic  Novel.     By  MILBS  KEON.     Cloth,  i   25 

•  FABIOLA;  or.  The  Church  of  the  Catacombs.     By  Cardinal  WISEMAN.     Popular 

Illustrated  Edition.  o  90 

FABIOLA'S  SISTERS.     A  Companion  Volume  to  Cardinal  Wiseman's  "Fab- 

iola."     By  A.  C.  CLARKE.  i   35 

FATAL  BEACON,  THE.     A  Novel.     By  F.  v.  BRACKBL.  i  35 

HEARTS  OF  GOLD.     A  Novel.     By  I.  EDHOR.  i   25 

HEIRESS  OF  CRONENSTEIN,  THE.     By  the  Countess  HAHN-HAHN.  i   25 

HER  FATHER'S  DAUGHTER.     KATHARINE  TYNAN  HINKSON.  i  a$ 

IDOLS;  or,  The  Secrets  of  the  Rue  Chaussee  d'Antin.     DB  NAVERY.  i   25 

IN  THE  DAYS  OF  KING  HAL.    By  MARION  AMES  TAGGART.  i  25 

"KIND  HEARTS  AND  CORONETS."     A  Novel.     By  J.  HARRISON.  i   25 

LET  NO  MAN  PUT  ASUNDER.    A  Novel.     By  JOSBPHINB  MARIB.  i  oo 

10 


LINKED  LIVES.     A  Novel.     By  Lady  GERTRUDE  DOUGLAS.  i  50 

MARCELLA  GRACE.     A  Novel.     By  ROSA  MULHOLLAND.     Illustrated  Edition. 

i   25 

MISS  ERIN.     A  Novel.     By  M.  E.  FRANCIS.  i   25 

MONK'S  PARDON,  THE.     A  Historical  Novel  of  the  Time  of  Philip  IV.  of 
Spain.     By  RAOUL  DE  NAVERY.  .  i  35 

MR.  BILLY  BUTTONS.     A  Novel.     By  WALTER  LECKY.  i   25 

OUTLAW  OF  CAMARGUE,  THE.     A  Novel.     By  A.  DE  LAMOTHB.  i  as 

PASSING  SHADOWS.     A  Novel.     By  ANTHONY  YORKE.  i   25 

PERE  MONNIER'S  WARD.     A  Novel.     By  WALTER  LECKY.  i   25 

PILKINGTON  HEIR,  THE.     A  Novel.     By  ANNA  T.  SADLIER.  i  35 

PRODIGAL'S  DAUGHTER.  THE.     By  LELIA  HARDIN  BUGG.  i  oo 

RED    INN    OF    ST.    LYPHAR,    THE.     A  Romance  of  La  Vendee.     By  ANNA 
T.  SADLIER.  i   25 

ROMANCE  OF  A  PLAYWRIGHT.     By  Vte.  HENRI  DE  BORNIER.  i  oo 

ROUND    TABLE  OF    THE    REPRESENTATIVE    AMERICAN    CATHOLIC 
NOVELISTS.     Complete  Stories,  with  Biographies,  Portraits,  etc.         i   50 
ROUND  TABLE  OF  THE  REPRESENTATIVE  FRENCH-CATHOLIC  NOV- 
ELISTS.    Complete  Stories,  with  Biographies,  Portraits,  etc.  i  50 
ROUND  TABLE  OF  THE  REPRESENTATIVE  GERMAN  CATHOLIC  NOV- 
ELISTS.    Illustrated.  i   so 
ROUND    TABLE    OF    THE    REPRESENTATIVE    IRISH    AND    ENGLISH 
CATHOLIC    NOVELISTS.     Complete    Stories,    Biographies,    Portraits,   etc. 
Cloth,  i   5° 
RULER  OF  THE  KINGDOM,  THE.     And  other  Phases  of  Life  and  Character. 
By  GRACB  KEON.                                                                                                     i   25 
THAT  MAN'S  DAUGHTER.     By  HENRY  M.  Ross.                                            i  25 
TRANSPLANTING   OF   TESSIE,    THE.     By  MARY  T.  WAGGAMAN.             o  60 
TRUE  STORY  OF  MASTER  GERARD,  THE.     By  ANNA  T.  SADLIER.         i  15 
UNRAVELING  OF  A  TANGLE,  THE.     A  Novel.     By  MARION  A.  TAGGART.  i  25 
VOCATION  OF  EDWARD  CONWAY.     A  Novel.     By  MAURICB  F.  EGAN.  i   25 
WOMAN  OF  FORTUNE.  A.     By  CHRISTIAN  REID.  i  25 
WORLD  WELL  LOST.     By  ESTHER  ROBERTSON.                                              o  75 

LIVES    AND   HISTORIES. 

AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  ST.  IGNATIUS  LOYOLA.     Edited  by  Rev.  J.  F.  X. 

O'CoNOR.  Cloth,  net,  i  25 

BIBLE  STORIES  FOR  LITTLE  CHILDREN.  Paper,  o  10;  Cloth,  o  20 

CHURCH  HISTORY.  BUSINGER.  o  75 

HISTORIOGRAPHIA  ECCLESIASTICA  quam  Historic  seriam  Solidatnque 

Operam  Navantibus,  Accommodavit  GUIL.  STANG,  D.D.  net,  i  oo 

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HISTORY  OF  THE  CATHOLIC  CHURCH.  By  JOHN  GILMARY  SHEA.  LL.D. 

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IRELAND.  By  WM.  COBBBTT.  Cloth,  net,  o  75 

LETTERS  OF  ST.  ALPHONSUS  LIGUORI.  By  Rev.  EUGENE  GRIMM,  C.SS.R. 

Centenary  Edition.  5  vols.,  each,  net,  i  25 

LIFE  AND  LIFE-WORK  OF  MOTHER  THEODORE  GUERIN,  Foundress  of 

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net,  a  oo 

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LIFE  OF  MOST  REV.  JOHN  HUGHES.  BRANN.  net,  o  75 

LIFE  OF  MOTHER  FONTBONNE,  Foundress  of  the  Sisters  of  St.  Joseph  of 

Lyons.     By  ABBB  RIVAUX.     Cloth,  net^  i  25 

II 


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LIFE  OF  ST.  ANTHONY.     WARD.     Ii.usirated.  o  75 

LIFE  OF  ST.  CATHARINE  OF  SIENNA.     By  EDWARD  L.  AYME,  M.D.     i  oo 
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OUR  LADY  OF  GOOD  COUNSEL  IN  GENAZZANO.     A  History  of  that  An- 
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OUTLINES  OF  JEWISH  HISTORY,  From  Abraham  to  Our  Lord.     Rev.   F.   E. 
GIGOT,  S.S.                                                                                                        net,   i   50 
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ST.  ANTHONY.  THE  SAINT  OF  THE  WHOLE  WORLD.     Rev.  THOMAS  F. 
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STORY  OF  THE  DIVINE  CHILD.     By  Very  Rev.  Dean  A.  A.  LINGS.          o  75 
VICTORIES  OF  THE  MARTYRS.     By  St.  ALPHONSUS  DB  LIGUORI.      net,  i   25 
VISIT  TO  EUROPE  AND  THE  HOLY  LAND.     By  Rev.  H.  FAIRBANKS,         i   50 


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